


Chimera

by JadeLotus (Lotusflower85)



Series: Creatures of the Night [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Grey!Luke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotusflower85/pseuds/JadeLotus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is a bearing, he is a dwelling, he is a messenger. A composite of parts not yet made whole. A trickster in a new trade.  Sequel to "Trickster."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The quotes preceding each chapter are from the novel "The Last Unicorn" by Peter S. Beagle.
> 
> Written in 2005/2006

_Great heroes need great sorrows and burdens, or half their greatness goes unnoticed. It is all part of the fairy tale._   
  


* * *

  
  
  
The Force resonates with the power of it. It is much more than a ripple, or a mere disturbance. It is a tearing of the Force itself. The sound of the unexpected, of factors unseen coming to play within the framework of destiny. Of a hope found and lost so easily, of the death knell sounding.  
  
It is a sonata of pain, of misery, of defiance. Of loss.  
  
It is the sound of decay – of a prophesy dying.

* * *

  
  
Master Yoda feels it, in his self-imposed exile. The swamps of Dagobah begin to churn, as the mist thickens. The Jedi sits in his small hut, and allows the tress of grow around him, the vines to weave throughout his small home.  
  
Yoda has long been prepared for death, but it will not come to him. He keeps daily council with Obi-Wan, but they are more inclined to reminisce than to plan strategy. His young friend has long believed that there is still hope, that it was not destroyed with Yavin. And for a long time, Yoda disagreed. The Force had made its choice, and it was not in their favour.  
  
But feeling the change in the Force, the shifting of time and space, Yoda begins to mediate. He begins to think, to believe.  
  
He wonders what the boy will do.

* * *

  
  
The Emperor feels it, from the bridge of his Death Star in orbit around Corellia. He had foreseen this, of course. Vader had been strong once, and his will had still been there, but his body had become a mere illusion, so fused to the life-giving machinery that he could hardly be considered a man. Controlling Vader, bringing him into Palpatine’s service had been so easy, after all, it had hardly challenged his supreme powers. He’d held such a tight rein on Vader that he hadn’t a thought in his head not without Palpatine’s knowledge and influence.  
  
He hadn’t even realised the boy he’d had brought to Coruscant had been his son. The Emperor smiled to himself, relishing the moment. He’d felt it in the boy the moment he’d laid eyes on him. Luke Skywalker was his father reborn. Ready to mould and create as Palpatine saw fit. He was older now, and his strength in the Force was diminished, it was true. But still, the boy presented endless possibilities. And, perhaps, the Skywalker blood would run through another’s veins. Another Skywalker, another child would provide immeasurable opportunities.  
  
Smiling, he gives the order to fire.

* * *

  
  
Han Solo feels nothing, not even the sting of loneliness that has so often haunted him in the past years. He no longer even feels the emptiness of the co-pilot’s seat, the absence of a hearty roar of disapproval. The odds had finally fallen against him, obliterating his well-cultivated luck.  
  
He tells himself that what happened at Yavin wasn’t his fault – that nothing he could have done would have changed things, or saved the rebels. But sometimes he thinks of the young kid, so hopeful and pure, and the princess, with her fiery eyes and tongue, and he can’t deny the regret. Leaving never sat right with Chewie, either, and it became a barrier between them, severed only by his friend’s untimely death.  
  
And now the Empire is worse than ever, obliterating planets right and left. Ordered, but utterly in chaos. No remains of the Rebellion have ever risen to be more than whispered yearnings or drunken dreams. And now Corellia has received the death mark of the Empire, and there’s still nothing he can do about it.  
  
Han sighs, and steers his crumbling freighter away from the shattering earth and debris of his burning home.

* * *

  
  
The Emperor’s most favoured Hand, Selano, feels it on her personal shuttle. She relishes the thought of the Sith Lord’s death, fuelling her ambitious drive. The Emperor will now need a new apprentice, someone to assume Lord Vader’s power, or what is left of it. She knows he had little more left than reputation. He had been a Jedi after all.

Although Selano had never let the Emperor know it, she was well aware of Vader’s past, of his heroic deeds as a Jedi. The Hero Without Fear.  Such goodness was not fit to serve her Master, a walking death mask rather than a man, wheezing out his inadequacies on the galaxy. She will be greater.  
  
She will rise out of the shadows to her Master’s side, and he will forget the day he ever heard the name Skywalker.

* * *

  
  
Mara Jade sees, rather than feels it, in the depths of the Imperial Palace.

From the shadows she watches the man she knows only as Schmendrick cradle the lifeless form of Darth Vader to him.  She has no idea that he is truly Luke Skywalker, former Rebel hero, or that the man he weeps for is his father.  

There is no outward indication of Vader's state, but she knows that beneath the cold, black armour there is no life. She _feels_ Schmendrick’s grief, she who had not felt anything in so long. A vicious pain rips through her, bleeds into her, at the death of the Dark Lord.  
  
She watches silently as he whispers to the shell, to the prison of Lord Vader, and his face is determined, hateful, even as a lone tear escapes his darkened eyes.

He clutches Lord Vader’s lightsaber tightly in his hand, and makes a promise to that which is dead.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_“Cruel?" she asked. "How can I be cruel? That is for mortals." But then she did raise her eyes, and they were great with sorrow, and with something very near to mockery. She said, "So is kindness.”_

  


* * *

  
  
  
Mara Jade was not an emotional woman. She had been raised that way from the first – taught that grief, sympathy, kindness, hope or any such sentiments were indicative only of weakness itself. She had believed it, too. Every core of her being, every day that she lived, that she grew, was an affirmation of her strength, of her ability. Every feeling she suppressed, every sensation of sorrow, or regret, or shame that she ignored and concealed fuelled her unrelenting drive.  
  
In her youth she was passionate and angry, as youth often is. But her Master squeezed every last drop of human emotion, the quick-witted tongue, the fiery temper, the reluctance to kill – he bled them all out of her. Mara was not bothered by her lack of what the Rebels called humanity, because she believed herself to be something better than human. A machine of divinity, perhaps, and avenging creature of the night – expunging the galaxy of the impure, the undeserving. The traitorous. She played the part he had taught her and she never questioned her role. She had not the will nor the humanity left to question – or to feel.  
  
Perhaps that was why it didn’t hurt when she had been replaced. It was sudden, the Emperor discarding her so swiftly, praising her for her impeccable service on the one hand and ushering her out the door with the other. She had to understand, she was told, that the young must be given a chance to serve as well. To prove themselves. It sounded right from the Emperor’s lips, but then, everything did. Every word he said was her divine mandate – her role only to listen and obey.  
  
Mara knew she should feel anger at her treatment – and her reduced station. No longer did she travel off-world, or live in fine apartments high above the city. Her quarters were still in the Imperial Palace, but below ground, wallowing in the darkness with the rest of those who had outlived their usefulness. She wanted for nothing, but her life was diminished – forced to work in the prisons. She had power there, but it did little good. She was of the administrative class, now, living a ghostly, distant life, interacting only with the guards under her and the prisoners she cataloged and kept.  
  
There was no satisfaction to be gleaned from her existence. In the beginning she had tried to remind herself that her charges were enemies of the Empire, that she was still vital to its security, but even in her mind, the words seemed empty. It had been years since she’d tried to find meaning to it all. Years since she’d even cared.  
  
The hurt, the pain – it was there, Mara was sure. But she had forgotten how to recognise it, to feel it. It was simply another distant pang in her deadened, numbed heart.  
  
Which was why she was confounded by the sight in front of her. She’d come back to retrieve the magician, as Lord Vader had ordered, but instead found him sprawled on the ground, unmoving. Dead, she realised. This in itself did not surprise her – the entire palace knew that Vader’s health had not been good. That it was only a matter of time before he succumbed. What confused Mara was the sight of her latest prisoner – the magician, the wizard – cradling the corpse of the Sith Lord in his arms. He was the image of utter despair, his face full of a pain she couldn’t even try to understand.  
  
What was more – she _felt_ it, through the Force. Her skills in that area had always been limited – her ability full of finesse and efficiency, but no real understanding or power. Not the power that her Emperor wielded, or even Lord Vader. It had been years since she’d even used the Force, like so many other mainstays of her former life, it had been buried, discarded as useless and redundant.  
  
But she felt the magician’s pain – the hot, burning sting that coursed through his veins, and now hers. The deep throbbing ache that penetrated her guarded mind – sorrow at the death of the Dark Lord. It was not her own pain, Mara realised. It had to be the magician's – but why? She knew that Lord Vader had begun to train the boy, who apparently showed potential in the dark arts – but the scene before her was much more than the grief of a student. He held his master reverently, calloused fingers tracing down the acute lines and angles of Vader’s black mask, to his silken cape, clutching the thick material hopelessly. Bowing his head, his shallow, raw breath filling the cavernous room.  
  
And she felt it – she who had not felt anything in so long. She who had killed and betrayed without a second thought – who had never grieved, not even for her own lost life. It affected her, but surprisingly, she was not frightened by the development. She grasped the feeling, the pain ruthlessly, basking in the white-hot fire that consumed him, taking it for herself.  
  
Slowly, she advanced on the pair – the magician had not sensed her presence as yet. It seemed like a dream – her feet moving of their own volition – his pain and her hunger for it guiding, pulling her towards him. Into his circle of despair. Her slim fingers came to rest on his shaking shoulder, and they both flinched at the contact. How long had it been since she’d touched another in friendship, in comfort? Too long. Or perhaps never.  
  
He turned his smoky, dark eyes towards her, and she was struck by their depth. In the surface they were dead, like hers. But beneath the practiced indifference, the hardened shell of apathy – they were so…alive. Filled with sorrow and hate, joy and despair – and love. All of this she saw in his eyes and in that moment she knew that she wanted it for herself. All of his emotions – she wanted to experience them, even more than that – she wanted someone to feel them for her.  
  
But could she trust this dark stranger? Vader had trusted him, had wanted him to rise up against the Emperor. Mara, however, had always been more cautious. She knew nothing about the magician – his life, his past – and she wondered if it even mattered. She was entranced by his eyes, his expression, and she sank down to the floor beside him, beside the fallen Sith Lord.  
  
Her body and arms moved of their own accord – reaching towards him in an unfamiliar gesture – to both of them. His gaze returned to his fallen master, but he accepted Mara’s clumsy embrace. His eyes closed as her arms folded around him, as she lay her head against his exposed neck, clutching him tightly. He allowed the action, she could feel it – the faint acknowledgement and gratefulness that emulated from his presence – that drifted through her mind and soul.  
  
For the moment, it did not matter what Vader was to this man, or what he was to her. She gave her comfort and he grasped it tightly, he gave his pain and she took it gratefully. His burden eased and she wore it for him – relishing in the feeling, though it pained her; a willing torture.  
  
The magician held Lord Vader, and Mara held him in turn, a swirl of pain and anguish dissipating into shared feeling – a shared consciousness. It was change – if they both were willing to accept it.  


* * *

  
  
  
She led him back to his cell eventually –a necessary action. She could not allow the Emperor to find out about Lord Vader and the magician. Or her hand in it all. It would mean death for all of them – and death was something she wanted to avoid, now.  
  
He had been silent and sullen – unwilling to leave the corpse, but Mara had persuaded him otherwise. His very life depended on it, now. He had agreed reluctantly, after Mara had promised that Lord Vader would receive a proper memorial. Not that she had much power in this are, but the magician had accepted her word.  
  
He had not spoken after that – not until she had been about to leave him.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Mara had regarded him curiously. She had not even begun to describe or understand his personality, nor his frequent shifts about-face. She fell back on long-taught barriers, a sardonic quirk of her eyebrow and an impassive expression.  
  
The magician sought through the folds of his tunic and retrieved a small data-disc. She eyed him, wondering how he had hidden it from her security.  
  
“I found it in my…in Lord Vader’s robe,” he explained. “I know he wanted me to have it…I know that there’s something important for me on it.”  
  
“Something you can’t risk the Emperor finding out about?” she asked him impassively, quenching her own curiosity.  
  
“Yes.” He stood and walked over to her, holding the disc in his outstretched palm. “Will you keep it for me?”  
  
Mara looked at the disc sceptically. “How do you know that you can trust me?” Her gaze flittered up to his earnest face.  
  
“I don’t.” His eyes locked onto hers.  
  
Intrigued, Mara nodded softly, taking the disc from him. An unfamiliar, curious expression found its way to her face. “What’s your name, magician?”  
  
A shadow passed over his face, and he walked back to his bunk, facing away from her. “Schmendrick.”  
  
“I’m not a carnival patron, magician. Don’t play games with me,” her tone was sharp. “You trust me enough with Vader’s secrets, but not with your name?”  
  
“No,” he swivelled on the bunk, turning back to face her. “I don’t trust _myself_ with it.”  
  
Mara wasn't in the mood for riddles, and the magician seemed so lost. She decided not to question him, and made way once again for the door.  
  
“Thank you,” came his soft voice for behind her. “Mara Jade.”  
  
She swivelled, her heart suddenly beating rapidly, apprehensively. “How do you know my name?” She had certainly never told him, unless Vader had… But that was ridiculous. She couldn’t have possibly had a place in Vader’s plans for the magician. He attempted to stare him down in the cell, intimidate him, but even laying on the bunk, he held a peculiar, private expression.  
  
“You’d be surprised at what I know.” He smiled wickedly, and for the first time, appeared dangerous. “About what I know” he continued, “And who I am.”  



	3. Chapter 3

_“I know exactly how you feel,” Schmendrick said eagerly. The unicorn looked at him out of dark, endless eyes, and he smiled nervously and looked at his hands. “_ _We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream. Still I have read, or heard it sung, that unicorns when time was young, could tell the difference ‘twixt the two – the false shining and the true, the lips’ laugh and the heart’s rue.”_

* * *

 

 

He didn’t dream anymore. Not as regular people did. There were no flights of fancy, no uplifting emotion, no heroic deeds nor remembrances of happier times that would penetrate the cold veneer of Schmendrick the Magician. Not even in sleep.

Especially in sleep.

Yoda had often reminded – or reprimanded – him of the various intricacies of the Force and what it could allow him to see. If, that was, he allowed it to flow though him, released himself to its power and guidance.

He refused to open himself up to it – it was his tool, and nothing more. Luke remembered the last time he had trusted completely in the Force. In between the shadow of the Death Star and the glare of Yavin, with the sound of Ben Kenobi’s voice in his ear.

_Trust the Force, Luke._

He’d believed and obeyed – back when he had been in the habit of obeying. When he’d taken the old hermit at face value, unaware of the cavalcade of lies and webs of deceit he hoarded and propagated.

_Let go, Luke._

Wishing and believing hadn’t stopped Vader from winging him – causing his proton torpedo to miss its mark. In the end, Han had been right. Han, who Luke had believed would come back, would prove his worth and loyalty. Another blind assurance of faith that had disappointed him so bitterly.

It had only been due to the debris created by the destruction of the Rebel base that had allowed Luke to escape. He assumed it was another cruel trick of the Force, the very destroyed rock and essence of his friends providing his only cover against the pursuing Death Star. Wedge had been killed instantly, his instruments as damaged as they were, but Luke had been able to outfly the majority of the TIE fighters.

All save one, who had chased him relentlessly through the newly created asteroids. It had only been his timely shift into hyperspace that had assured his escape from who he now realised had been his father.

Wishing was not something Luke remembered how to do – but how he longed that things had been different that day. That he had been captured by Vader, even, that he had discovered who Luke was. That they could have shared for years what Luke had only received for a few brief months – time with his father, his only true blood. He could have been strong by now – could have discovered a way to save his father, extend his life – so that they could have been together.

In the dark, bleak prison cell, Luke clenched a fist. Obi-Wan and Yoda had stolen that life from him. A new, unknown bitterness crept its way into Luke’s cold, untreated heart. They’d taken him from his father – from his mother, orphaned him in the name of the Jedi. The long-dead legacy they had tried to recreate in him.

How disappointed they would be in him. How he didn’t care.

Jade had come to see him earlier, and Luke thought he had seen a slight brightening in her eyes, a lifting of the darkness that clouded her.

Luke sensed a kinship with her, something he couldn’t quite ascertain or describe. He didn’t know whether he could trust her not to turn him over to the Emperor, or even not to keep the secrets of the data disc for herself.  But he needed someone to use, if not to trust. He couldn’t have kept the disc concealed, not with the routine cell and body searches. Jade’s security was efficient and thorough.

That at least told him that she was reliable, if not trustworthy. He needed an ally, and Jade seemed to be the most worthy candidate, however damaged she may be.

His father had told him all about Jade, about her past as the Emperor’s Hand. He had spoken scornfully of the position, almost as if he thought it was dishonourable. The Hands skulked in the shadows, silent, insidious, obedient slaves to the Emperor’s will. There was no pride in a kill made in the silence of the night, his father had said. But then, Vader had always been such a visible, ominous presence, his power gained through intimidation and sheer will. He had no respect for those who could not show themselves in the light.

Of Jade, however, he had spoken of...less disparagingly, at least. Unlike the other Hands, she possessed a modicum degree of ability in the Force, although it had most likely atrophied in the time since her release from the direct service of the Emperor. In Jade his father had seen a semblance of loyalty, an assessment to which Luke had trusted his life. And trust was a necessity, now, if not to Jade, than to his father.

He saw potential in her, occasional flashes of the girl he supposed she used to be. Her attitude had not been completely smouldered by the embers of rejection. He was pleased by her almost acidic tongue - the scornful way she called him ‘magician’ – her fire was not lost. He had only to bring it out in her, and she would be his. A willing tool in his quest against the Emperor.

They’d spoken briefly – she hadn’t mentioned the data disc. But then, it was probably for the best, the Emperor’s spies were everywhere. He tried to ascertain whether or not she had viewed it herself, and concluded that in all likelihood, she hadn’t. That, or she was extremely adept at hiding it.  He had assured himself that his father would have arranged the appropriate security in the disc in any event.

The Emperor had returned from the Death Star, she’d informed him grimly. Luke had to hope that he continued to show no interest in him. He hadn’t seen the Emperor since his first visit, months ago. He had apparently found Luke’s potential lacking. But with Vader gone...

She had seen Vader’s funeral pyre, and Jade had shared it with him. There had been a great mourning over Coruscant for his death, the city silent with respect. The flames had consumed him as they rose high into the night, lighting up the sky. Luke listened to her words, but did not respond. He remembered how she had held him after his father’s death, taking his pain, easing his grief. He could not allow himself to be that vulnerable in front of her again. He would not allow her that power.

Luke wondered for his life – about how he was to fulfil the promise he made to his dying father. How in the stars he could pull this off – he, a failed Jedi, and a lowly, lousy magician. He wondered about what the Emperor planned for him.

Jade couldn’t give him any answers, so he asked nothing of her. She sat with him in the silence, in the dark gloom of his cell. She offered to move him to a more accommodating area of the prison, but he liked the dark. It surrounded him, the cool dampness buffering his hard edges and soothing his wayward thoughts. He thought, briefly, that it was almost like circus life – he had certainly slept in less comfortable places in his tenure. And always alone.

He meditated in his shadows – as his father had taught him. Reaching for that dark place inside himself, where there was no light, nothing to illuminate the deep scars, his utter failings. It was pleasant there; he could almost hear the rhythmic, mechanical breathing of his father, soothing him, bringing him peace, urging him to rest his weariness.

So now when he slept, he dreamed. He dreamed of the Emperor, cowering before him, his huddled, robbed, brittle form reduced to pleas of mercy – for forgiveness. The acknowledgement of Luke’s own strength, his power, and of the Emperor’s own humiliating defeat. He dreamed of the celebration he would organise for the tyrant's death, in the name of his father, the great Lord Vader.

He dreamed of vengeance, and slept soundly.


	4. Chapter 4

_The long road hurried nowhere and it had no end. It ran through villages and small towns, flat country and mountains, stony barrens and meadows springing out of stones, but it belonged to none of these, and it never rested anywhere._   


* * *

  
  
  
The _Millennium Falcon_ hurtled through the cold hardness of space with a lone occupant, comforted only by the whirling mechanics of his last true companion.   
  
Han Solo was never one to question his lot in life, only to attempt to better it, hopefully through money and means. Smuggling he excelled at – piracy his clean, sharp skill. And making the credits to prove it had long been his ambition.   
  
That was until he picked up that blasted old man and snivelling kid, had been tricked into going after that princess. Seventeen thousand credits and a quick trip to Alderaan, that had been the plan. How he’d managed to get caught up in the rest of it, Han wasn’t quite sure. But it had been the beginning of the end.   
  
He’d managed to pay off his debt to Jabba after Yavin, with credits to spare. Regrettably they’d dried up in a few months, after Han began to rely heavily on liquor and high-stakes gambling, much to Chewie’s disapproval. Unfortunately the Wookiee didn’t have the heart nor the will to beat any sense into his friend – only to give his stoic and grumbling displeasure. Months turned into years, until Han could no longer take Chewie’s silence and occasional warning growls. He broke and asked him to leave.   
  
But the Wookiee would not leave his life debt unfulfilled, even as the atmosphere grew stale between them. Han managed in part to stay away from spice – but only because smuggling became his latest, and most fateful addiction. It was no longer just a job for Han Solo – it was his obsession, his soothing balm of relief. In the midst of the danger, that ever-present guilt was not forgotten, but at least pushed aside, cloaked in the recesses of his mind.   
  
And as the Empire tightened her iron grip on the smuggling rings, Han’s ambition and drive only increased. It was not any particular hate for the Empire or their damaging hold on piracy – it was the thrill, the rush of elation it always brought. And despite the bitter aftertaste that could only be cured by another run – Han never thought to stop himself.   
  
He lost Chewie in the Maw. The Wookiee died as he had lived – proudly, defiantly. Protecting what he held most dear.   
  
Losing his friend was too much of a burden for Han to bear. He had returned to Corellia, but found the atmosphere unappealing and the holes in his heart too large to fill. But at least in the system, there had been some sort of defiance to the Empire. Not support for the Rebellion, whose last dregs had long been washed away, but a united push to retain independence.   
  
It had failed, as Han knew it would. Everything against the Empire failed.   
  
Luckily, or perhaps not, Han had received word of the Death Star’s course for Corellia, and managed to escape. If escape was the right word for it. More often than not, Han believed himself to be in a never-ending, inescapable prison. That was until death found him at last, and he waited for it.   
  
For he was alone, and kept company only with his ship he rarely bothered to repair anymore. That and the ghostly memories he couldn’t push away.   
  
He thought of the kid, long dead. He thought of his youthful idealism, of his untortured soul, of his willingness for an adopted cause so fresh he couldn’t see the danger of it. Luke had looked so much younger than his eighteen years that day in the hanger, the stark orange of the borrowed flightsuit almost marking him for death.   
  
Han told himself over and over that it what happened at Yavin hadn’t been his fault. The Empire destroyed the Rebellion, not Han Solo. His being there wouldn’t have made the slightest difference.   
  
He remembered the Princess, when things became especially dark. She was anything but demure and dainty, so unlike any woman Han had known. She’d had a fire to her that Han had been unable to recapture.   
  
Sometimes, in the night, he would remember the last time he spoke to her. How she had appeared to him, clean and refreshed, but with a thick resentment in her eyes.   
  
_“I hope you enjoy your reward, Captain Solo.” Her clipped voice had drawn his attention._  
  
Han had rolled his eyes. First the kid lecturing him, and now this. But he’d flashed her a lopsided grin. “I intend to.”   
  
“I suppose it would be too difficult for you to imagine how much those credits are needed here.” She was still in virginal white, but her expression and tone were anything but modest as she stared him down in the hanger.   
  
“Hey.” Han forcefully put down the cargo he was carrying. “I was offered this reward fair and square.” He returned her angry gaze. “I went way beyond the parameters of my contract with the old man, and I brought you back safe and sound.” He gestured to her dismissively. “Surely I deserve compensation.”   
  
“Perhaps I don’t like the idea of my life being bought.” She looked away momentarily, and her gaze lingered on the boxes. “Not when it could help our cause.”   
  
“Your cause won’t need it Princess. Credits are no good to dead men.”   
  
Her eyes closed as Leia appeared to compose herself. Obviously she knew the danger of their mission, but didn’t wish to be reminded of it.   
  
“I realise it is too much to ask you to stay for the Rebellion, although that seems to be enough for others.” Her eyes reopened, and there was a soft pleading to them unlike he had seen before. “But stay for Luke,” she began. “He looks up to you, and he’s going to need all the support he can get up there.”   
  
Han tried not to think about the miniscule amount of affection he had acquired for the Tatooine farmboy. He didn’t want to see him blown away with the rest of this hopeless cause, but it was the kid’s decision to stay. Luke had made his choice, and it hadn’t been Han.   
  
“Sorry princess,” he picked up his cargo again. “I don’t trade my life for anyone elses.”   
  
Leia had steeled then, ice filling her features. She had walked away from him, somehow managing to keep the dignity and grace she emulated, even in anger.   
  
Han brushed an angry hand over his eyes and tried to scrape the images from his mind. But they swirled before him, unwilling to leave, insistent on remaining. Unable to forget, Han lingered in the depths of space, alone and desolate as his soul.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
From beneath his darkened cowl, the Emperor Palpatine, Dark Lord Sidious of the Sith, Master of the Force and Supreme Ruler of the Galactic Empire, glowered in pleasure. He reached a gnarled hand towards the other occupant of the room, hidden in the shadows. Beckoning a contorted finger, the Emperor called his servant before him.   
  
“Was your mission successful, my Hand?” His deep voice penetrated the shadows and cracks, filling even the very walls of the chamber with its timbre.   
  
A hard face appeared before him, youthful only in her features and lean body, in the brilliant shine of her blonde hair and the taut curve of her cheekbones. But her gaze was cold, betraying the depths and age of her soul, and the malice she kept there. There was no hiding the ruthlessness of her aspirations. She held within her what had been and was lacking in all of his other Hands; pure, driven, hateful ambition. This pleased the Emperor greatly.   
  
“Yes, my Master,” she answered, her voice deceptively light as she knelt before him. “Another of your enemies has been dealt with.” She removed a hand from her cloak, bringing with it a small bejewelled dagger, one of the prized possessions, he knew, of her victim. A proof and keepsake of her diligence and success. It was not necessary, because all deception of failure was drained painfully from his Hands early in their training. But she enjoyed the reminder, and carefully stored all such keepsakes diligently. This pleased the Emperor more.   
  
“Well done, Selano.” He flicked his wrist slightly. “Rise.”   
  
She complied. “I heard about Lord Vader, my Master,” she said softly, and Palpatine sensed a pleasure in her voice. She had disliked his long-time apprentice, and the Emperor knew, was biding her time in order to take his place. She had limited Force skill, but it had served him well in the past. She had no difficulties in drawing on the Dark Side.   
  
But he had another in mind for that place in his service. Someone with untapped, unshaped power. Someone, he knew, would be challenging to bend to his will, but ultimately would prove fruitful.   
  
“The time has come,” he informed his Hand, commandingly, ignoring her earlier statement. “Bring me the magician.”   



	5. Chapter 5

_“I would not be you for all the world” he declared. “You have let your doom in by the front door, but it will not depart that way.  For there will come a time when none but a master will be able to save you - and in that hour, you will have Schmendrick to call upon!  Farewell, poor Haggard, farewell!"_

_Still laughing, he disappeared; but his mirth dwelled forever in the corners of that chamber, like the smell of smoke, or of cold, old dust._

* * *

  
  
  
Luke didn’t imagine there was a darker, colder place than that of his cell, but the Emperor’s throneroom chilled his bones down to the marrow. Sculptures, barely discernible in the dark, lined the walls, ornate images of pain and suffering, frozen for the Emperor’s pleasure.  
  
His blond leader, the one who had collected Luke from his cell, turned slightly, a smug smile on her face. Obviously she enjoyed his discomfort. Luke resolved not to give her the satisfaction, and kept his face impassive. As blunted as his Force senses were, he knew this woman meant only danger to him. Youth and beauty were a deadly combination.  
  
He had also sensed the reticence that Mara felt, when she had handed him over – the bitter silence between them, the same haughty smile on the blonde’s face. Whoever this woman was, she caused Mara a great pain. And it would be in his best interests to discover why. That was, if he lived through this meeting at all. Perhaps the Emperor had no further use for him – perhaps he had discovered what Luke knew about his father.  
  
 _His father._ Luke unconsciously clenched a fist under his binders. He was to come face to face with the man who had abused and used him, and sentenced him to an early death within the confines of a black, inescapable prison.  
  
For a moment, Luke felt his blunted emotions flare with the burning intensity of his hate. Pure, blinding rage filled his being with a compounding heat, the flickering dullness of his soul became alight with it, spreading through the blood in his veins, through his extremities and smothering his entire being with the fire of its darkness. But as they approached the robed figure on the dais, Luke felt it subside as quickly as it had overtaken him. From the depths of his soul, he felt a calm, soothing presence, almost as if his father was there, quenching the fire that burned within him.  
  
It was a reprimand, Luke realised, as clarity came to him. His father had told him explicitly of this. The Emperor’s power was great, but he was bound by his own arrogance. If Luke kept his head, if he could remain impassive, his adversary would not be able to sense the small changes in his emotions, the secrets he kept within firm barriers. But if his anger was swift and hot, he could not have a hope of remaining safe from the Emperor’s probes.  
  
Luke calmed himself. The need for revenge was still there, but it was a mere flicker in a sea of cool indifference. It was cold with its practicality and precision. Luke would find his revenge, he would defeat the Emperor, he knew this. But it would not be today. Palpatine must believe that Luke was his willing servant – slave to his very will, as Vader had been. Then, his triumph would be greater.  
  
Luke halted at the foot of the platform that housed the Emperor’s throne. Briefly, he contemplated the viewing port that braced the wall of the room. None of the buildings of Coruscant were visible from this level – The Emperor’s chambers were the highest in the city. There was only the stars. At one time, Luke might have found hope in them, or comfort. He had not glanced upon them in many months, captive in the bowels of the city. But there was nothing in the wide-eyed boy who would watch the stars for many hours, filled with the hope of his dreams.  
  
They meant little to him now, and did not hold his attention for more than a few moments.  
  
“Come closer, my boy.” The Emperor’s deep, rasping voice was quiet, but it seemed to fill the very caverns of Luke’s being. “Let me look at you.” Careful not to show fear, or hesitation, Luke climbed the shallow steps towards the seated Emperor, his own dull eyes meeting the yellow, burning intensity of the Emperor’s own.  
  
He did not seem so much a man, but some ghostly spectre, power and age winding viciously through him. Even Luke’s tapered Force sense could ascertain the sheer, controlled strength that coursed through him. But as Luke probed deeper, he saw clearly the truth in his father’s advice. Palpatine had power, yes, and it was precisely controlled. The Force swirled within him as a grand aria, but there was no delicacy, no subtle manipulations to be found. There was very little chance that the Emperor would be able to sense the small, controlled current of the Force that ran through Luke.  
  
He met the Emperor’s steely gaze with confidence in his own safety, and the comforting thought that with luck, the man before him would be dead within the month.  
  
“Captivity agrees with you,” the Emperor rasped approvingly as he completed his assessment. “I am impressed.”  
  
“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Luke retorted defiantly. He did not miss the look of shock and anger from the woman, who had now taken a place at Palpatine’s left hand.  
  
The Emperor himself, however, chuckled, although it sounded more like the harsh grinding of machinery than that of a human voice. “You must forgive my Hand, young Schmendrick,” he continued genteelly, gesturing to the woman at his side. “Selano has never seen anyone defy me directly.”  
  
“Or live to tell about it,” her sharp voice cut in smugly.  
  
 _Selano._ Luke didn’t give the woman a second glance, but carefully filed the information away.  
  
The Emperor merely gave a swift flick of his wrist, and Selano grimaced in response. With a bow to her master and a modicum of reluctance, she left through a concealed entrance in the side of the chamber.  
  
The air seemed to cool as the entirety of the Emperor’s scrutiny lay upon him. Luke felt the forceful probing of his mind and soul, a barrage against his senses. He imagined himself invisible – saw the Emperor’s yellow gaze piercing through him, beyond him. Luke couldn’t hope to block the Emperor, but if there was nothing to be found in him, nothing to discern, then he would be safe.  
  
It seemed to work, as Palpatine’s focus lessened, and his robed form leaned back into the brace of his throne.  
  
“There are not many who gain a second audience with me.” His voice was deceptively quiet. “Do you wonder why you are here, Schmendrick?”  
  
Luke tried not to flinch at the sound of his alias. Although it had served him well, it sounded hollow and false from the Emperor’s lips. Palpatine knew all too well that it was not his true name, yet he continued to address him by it, as if wondering which of them would break first.  
  
But Luke kept his resolve. “It is not my place to question you, Emperor,” he answered dutifully.  
  
“Don’t lie to me boy,” he sneered in return. “I sense the defiance within you”.  
  
Luke stiffened, but regained his composure, careful not to let his emotions slip or his mind to wander.  
  
“You do not enjoy my hospitality?” The Emperor asked wryly.  
  
“I’ve had worse,” Luke retorted, his confidence growing once again.  
  
“Indeed?” A slow smile worked its way onto the Emperor’s face. “Perhaps it was the company that has…improved your attitude?” When Luke didn’t answer, he continued his line of questioning. “Has Jade continued to serve me well in your captivity?”  
  
After a moment’s consideration Luke proceeded cautiously. “She is very…thorough in her duties.” He wasn't sure what the Emperor was playing at. Mara was an integral part of Luke’s plan, and he had to hide her duplicity but he could not be perceived to be in any way attached to her.  
  
Thankfully, the Emperor shifted his attention. “Were you informed of Lord Vader’s death?”  
  
“It was communicated to me.” Luke trod carefully.  
  
“My former Hand is efficient.” Emperor nodded, pleased. “His death was not unexpected,” he added after another long silence.  
  
“You did not try to save him?” Luke struggled to keep his voice neutral.  
  
“He died long before his body gave out,” the Emperor said dismissively, as if he were discussing a disposable minion. “You should be glad for his death, young Schmendrick,” he added.  
  
“And why is that?” Luke stared his foe down coolly. Later, he promised himself. Later, he would deal with this affront to his father’s memory.  
  
“His passing has opened up a place in my employ.” Nobbled, cracked fingers drummed precisely on the arm of the throne.  
  
Luke struggled to cool his rage. “What makes you think I would accept?” His clipped words sounded forced.  
  
“You betray yourself, Schmendrick,” the Emperor gave him a deadly smile. “You don’t fool anyone with your pathetic magician’s tricks.”  
  
Luke quelled his panic and forced down the bile that had risen in his throat. He wouldn’t let himself give anything away – the Emperor only thought he knew the truth about him. He allowed his eyes to meet that of his adversary, bravely, and without fear.  
  
“I sense a great strength within you, Schmendrick,” The Emperor continued, more calmly. “Untapped, raw power. The Jedi could not tame it, could they?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Luke felt relief fill him – The Emperor knew only of his past, not his recent affiliation with his father.  
  
“I could help you, Schmendrick,” the Emperor continued, his voice almost seductive with an underlying power. “You could be so much more than a foolish trickster.”  
  
That was it – what Luke had been waiting for. The Emperor’s invitation into his circle, into his confidence. A vantage point from which he could strike. But he must not appear too eager. “I don’t take to slavery kindly,” he said finally, coolly.  
  
“The Dark Side asks for your servitude, but it gives so much more.” The Emperor rose ominously, and walked towards Luke with solid purpose. “I offer you power as you’ve never seen, as you’ve never felt. The Dark Side richly rewards those who are worthy, and you could wield its full strength.” For a moment, Luke was transfixed by the swirling yellows and reds in the Emperor’s eyes, by the deep lull of his voice, by the dark power whose tendrils reached out to cling to him. He stood at the precipice, a voice from within him calling for him to jump, to give himself over to it.  
  
Luke blinked, and took a step back, fearful of the tempting emotions that had just come to him. The Emperor clasped a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder steadying him.  
  
“You’re afraid,” the Emperor rasped, drawing him closer. “That’s good.” He smiled, bringing Luke in close until he could feel the stale breath upon his face. “That’s very good.”


	6. Chapter 6

_The unicorn said quietly, “This one is real. This is the harpy Celaeno”._   
  
_“Sister of the rainbow, believe it or not,” they heard Rukh braying to awed onlookers. “Her name means ‘The Dark One’, the one whose wings blacken the sky before a storm”._

* * *

  
  
  
  
Selano strode the dank corridors of the Imperial prison with relish, sneering at the alien slaves who toiled in the caverns, taking lists, making reports. Insignificant forces in the Empire’s efficient dominance. This section housed mainly political prisoners, although the influx had slowed in recent years. With the Rebellion’s quick death, few dared to challenge the Emperor, at least as brazenly as the rebels had done. Or so she’d heard. She’d only been a child, then. Still within the protective scope and care of her minders and tutors.  
  
No one had dared try organised rebellion since the activation of the Death Star. There had been a few notable examples – Corellia being the last, but they were few and far between. The Emperor had confided in her that the Death Star was a much more effective deterrent than a weapon of punishment.  
  
She had learned much from his tutelage – she barely remembered a life before that of the Emperor. She had brief memories of her parents – surface images really, fragile within her own mind. But she made no effort to strengthen them, to delve deeper into her childhood. There simply was no need. At the age of nineteen, she’d already spent more time in the Emperor’s service than she had with her blood family. And those  memories carried a certain sense of drudgery and tedium.  
  
It was not her destiny to be coddled by the weak-minded some called family, to be bound and chained by their laughable concept of _love_. She’d executed them, anyway, despite their pleas for mercy and their eventual, dying words of broken hearts and other such nonsense. It had been her first kill – her proof to the Emperor that she had what the other lacked – that she was not horrified at death, even that of her own blood. They’d been filthy rebels, anyway, though it had come to matter little to Selano. All that mattered was the Emperor’s word.  
  
It was a mistake her mentor had made, confusing service – the master and student - with the concept of loyalty and compassion. That had been before Selano had become not only the Emperor’s Hand, but his most favoured and trusted disciple. But it had been the beginning for her – the first in a long line of conquest and victory. No, Selano did not harbour any untoward feeling towards her master, did not live under any delusion that he cared for her. And she, in turn, was only loyal to him so long as he gave her the incentive. Were another to challenge his power and seat at the head of the Empire, Selano would be there, ready to see who came out the victor. She would stake her claim in any new order, would climb through any rank she chose.  
  
There was a chance of that, now. Vader had been too weak and stupid to attempt any usurpation of the Emperor’s power, had not even had the strength to outlast him. But this new man – Schmendrick – he posed and interesting quandary. Selano might have to choose sides, should things become heated. The magician had been moved into Vader’s old quarters – officially taken under the apprenticeship of the Emperor.  
  
Selano could not deny the rage she felt at his appointment, at her own passing-over for a position she had long-coveted. Hadn’t she served the Empire loyally for years, hadn’t she disposed of every traitor, rebel, businessman or threat to its stability, to that of the Emperor? Hadn’t she protected the old fool, kept his power strong and support base loyal? Wasn’t she young, strong and talented? And yet this man – the bumbling idiot that used the Force for tricks that didn’t frighten children – the Emperor had chosen _him_ to be his right hand?  
  
But Selano knew patience, and she persistence. She would claim her prize, even if she had to use Schmenrick to do it. She held no real allegiance to the Emperor.  
  
Loyalty was only as good so long as the recipient deserved it. Anyone who thought different was otherwise was worse than a fool. Which was why it gave her unusual pleasure to be winding through the prisons. Any other time the stench of failure would have driven her away, but she enjoyed seeing the rebellious suffer, feeling the weak collapse under the mantle of depression amd failure. And most of all, Selano wanted to see the look on her face when she delivered the Emperor’s instructions.  
  
She finally reached the correct level which housed the small office, if one could call it that, of Mara Jade, Administrator. She sat in the centre of a desk cluttered with datapads and discs, and Jade shuffled through them slowly, muttering to herself as she made notes. She did not seem to notice Selano, and so she took a moment to revel in the former Hand’s position.  
  
She had done better than some of the others – most were executed as soon as they outlived their usefulness, some were sold or given to the less desirable, but successful Imperial officers of various rank. Mara Jade had survived this fate, only to live a monotonous, humiliating life, in Selano’s eyes. Administrator may be a lucrative position for some – excellent wages and standard of living, relatively simple, although repetitive, work. The chance to mingle and mistreat the political prisoners, the former rebels, the headstrong aliens – a more elite, entertaining sort of criminal than mere thieves or pirates.  
  
But for an Emperor’s Hand, it was nothing short of a demotion and denigration of the highest order. There was no use for Jade’s quick mind, agile infiltration skills or quick reflexes in the prisons. It was a castration of her ability, a muzzle on her trained, hard assassins mind. Selano had asked the Emperor, once, why Jade had not been farmed out, or silenced, as so many others were. Her Master had, in foresight, predicted a use for her – though atrophied and without will as Mara would, and had, become, he knew her continued presence might aid him. Whether or not he had been right remained to be seen. But Jade now had a chance to prove her worth.  
  
Selano finally sauntered up to the desk, towering over the seated Jade. She flicked her thick blonde hair and cleared her throat expectantly. If Jade was surprised to see her, she didn’t show it, simply quirking an eyebrow as she looked up and regarded her. Selano made a point of resting her fingers on the counter, before removing them and brushing away invisible dusk. She then glanced around the room, exaggerating her movements and contorting her face into one of disgust.  
  
“Not exactly a first-class working environment, Jade,” she said pleasantly, knowing her light tone would irritate the woman even more. “But good enough for someone of your standard.” Selano relished at the glint in Mara’s dull green eyes. “I suppose you’re used to it.”  
  
Mara put down the datapad she had been studying. Not a muscle moved on her face, but Selano could see the anger brewing beneath the surface, barely held in check. In a falsely welcoming tone, she replied, “How nice of the Emperor to send you down, Selano.” She leaned back into her chair, her hands resting on the desk before her. “I do need an assistant around here.”  
  
Selano smirked at the jab. Jade’s pathetic ‘wit’ could make no dent in her armour. “Perhaps your replacement will do a better job of keeping this place in order.” She carelessly shifted through the various discs, jumbling the order and sections they had clearly been placed in. But Jade was too shocked to notice her sabotage. Her eyes dulled even further and her demeanor lost all of its previous dignity. Selano cocked her head, falsely surprised. “Oh, didn’t the Emperor send word? You’re being relieved of this position.”  
  
For a long moment, there was silence between them, Selano smiling viciously at her former rival’s downfall, and Mara simply frozen – with surprise or even fear. No doubt she was concerned that the time had finally come for her – that she was to be executed. One day, Selano hoped to have that pleasure for her own, but she must abide by the Emperor’s wishes. For now.  
  
“Come along, Jade,” Selano said harshly, scattering the datapads with a keen arm and shaking Mara out of her stupor. “I’m taking you to the Emperor, not the executioner.”  
  
Jade seemed to relax slightly, although her shoulders became tense as she stood on stiff legs. “Why?”  
  
“New assignment, aren’t you glad of that, Jade?” She stood close to her, Selano’s own piercing blue eyes penetrating the foggy greenish-grey of Mara’s. “Some might even consider it a promotion.” She smiled maliciously. “Or not.”


	7. Chapter 7

_“It is a rare man who is taken for what he truly is,” he said. “There is much misjudgement in the world…you take me for a clown, or a clod, or a betrayer and so I must be if you see me so. The magic on you is only magic and it will vanish as soon as you are free, but the enchantment of error that you put on me I must wear forever in your eyes.”_   


* * *

  
  
  
Lord Vader’s quarters had changed much since the magician had taken up residence. Mara immediately noticed that the windows had been uncovered, spilling the evening light into the room, giving it an almost romantic glow. Mara supposed that he was sick of the prisons and the darkness there. But that was not the only change Schmendrick had made – he was surrounded by various equipment, consoles and electronics, scattered haphazardly across the room.   
  
The magician himself was sprawled in a large, ornate armchair that had been Lord Vader’s, tinkering with what appeared to be a small cooling unit, or perhaps a droid part, it was hard to tell. But the interesting thing was that he almost looked…content. Mara had never seen such an expression of peace on his face.   
  
Without looking up from the contraption he said, “It’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to work with such new technology.” He glanced up at her. “It helps me think.”   
  
Mara, uneasy that he had sensed her approach, retorted in the deprecating fashion she knew irritated him. “Hello, Magician.”   
  
“The Emperor promised me an assistant,” discarding his toy for a moment, he stood to greet her. “I’m glad it’s you. Does that make you think less of me?” He smiled, then, as if he was making a joke.   
  
“I’m sure it’s only because of this,” Mara retrieved a small datadisc from within the folds of her robe. Immediately the magician was at her side, eyes blazing, hand outstretched. Mara complied with his silent request, placing the disc into his eager grasp. As his fingers closed around it, Schmendrick closed his eyes, backing away from her. For a few minutes he stood in silence, as if trying to listen to something, or simply relishing the moment. But then his mood changed abruptly as he tossed the disc on the table beside him carelessly.   
  
“Why have you been willing to help me?” he asked, casually as he sank back into the armchair.   
  
Mara drew her cloak tighter around herself, feeling uneasy. The last time she had been here, the magician had been cradling Vader on the floor, and she in turn, had held him. There had been a mutual understanding between them, then, which seemed to have dissipated. Mara got the feeling that Schmendrick didn’t quite trust her – at least as much as she distrusted him. “I could ask you the same thing,” she said finally, with a hint of defiance.   
  
His hand ran through his dark-blond hair, nodding almost inperceptively. “Perhaps I understand you, Mara. Even if you do not understand me.”   
  
That angered her, Mara feeling a flush of resentment at his audacity and presumption. “Lord Vader knew very little about who I am, truly. Your assumptions are misplaced.”   
  
Schmendrick, calm as ever, simply smiled. “I know far more about you than Lord Vader told me. You betray yourself too easily.”   
  
“And you don’t?” Mara replied hotly. “You’re a fraud, I know that much. You play the trickster, but I know that is not who you are. Why else would you be here, wanted and needed by so many?”  Mara took a deep breath, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground, but too annoyed to care. “First Lord Vader, and now the Emperor,” she continued, fixing him with a keen eye. “I’m wondering why they would pay so much attention to a mere magician.”   
  
Schmendrick was silent in response, returning her gaze unwaveringly. “Maybe they see things in me you do not,” he said after a time, clearly unmoved by her insult.   
  
“I’ve read your file,” she replied. In truth she had hacked into the Imperial database, but she had found the information she wanted easily enough. “You’ve been in the employ of the same travelling circus for ten years without incident. You perform a ‘magic’ show in which you appear to manipulate the Force to a small degree, but by no means demonstrate any real sort of skill in it. There is nothing to even draw the _interest_ of the Emperor, let alone cause him to appoint you at his new apprentice.”   
  
Throughout her speech, the magician had not moved, not reacted in the slightest. He still stood there, silently, but Mara was sure his mind was ticking over in thought. The man genuinely confused her; he had not even tried to defend his trade, or correct any of her assumptions. He simply studied her. In fact, she had found no record of Schmendrick Swami prior to employ with Madame Fortuna’s Midnight Carnival, which solidified Mara’s belief that it was not his real name. As such, she refused to address him by it.   
  
“Tell me, Magician,” she continued disdainfully. “What use do you have to the Emperor. Why is he willing to let you replace Lord Vader?”   
  
Instead of answering, Schmendrick stood and took a step towards her, his eyes flittering over her briefly. “Why don’t you take off your cloak?” he smiled knowingly. “You’ll be more comfortable”.   
  
Mara clutched at the lapel at her throat, keeping her coverings close around her. That was the last thing she wanted to let him see, for it would relinquish any power she had gained in the past few minutes.   
  
“Go on,” he encouraged her.   
  
“Will you tell me what I want to know?” If she was going to face this, Mara at least wanted to know she was getting something in return.   
  
“No,” he said evenly. “But I might mention to the Emperor that you were uncooperative.”   
  
Mara stiffened. That was no empty threat. She saw danger in his eyes now that had not been present before. Despite her protection of his secret disc, he owed her nothing now it was in his possession. Blindly, he realised he had just forced her into trusting him. Clever, she thought as she berated herself. When she was a Hand she never would have made such a mistake.   
  
Hesitantly, Mara unclasped her robe, pulling it off her shoulders and arms and tossing it onto the nearby console. Underneath she wore something reminiscent of the dancing costumes she had endured long ago, tight and revealing in all of the right places. There was no mistake in what her attire represented. She put her hands on her hips and raised her chin in defiance, refusing the play the submissive gift.    
  
She had balked at first, hearing the Emperor’s plans. He felt the magician would be more trusting to a servant and mistress than anyone else, felt that he would enjoy the role-reversal, since Mara had been his master in the prisons. The Emperor had dressed it up, of course, telling Mara that this was her opportunity to revive her lost career in his service, to prove herself by discovering the secrets of his new apprentice.   
  
There had been a time when Mara would have relished the opportunity, but it seemed so empty, now. She realised that whatever the Emperor wanted to know about Schmendrick, he would discover for himself. His promises were merely a pretence for Mara – to convince her to become the magician’s whore, to keep him happy. Keeping his servants loyal with the wiles of a woman was the Emperor’s firm practice. Mara herself was not unfamiliar with it at all.   
  
Schmendrick, for his part, did not seem surprised. “So the Emperor sent you to serve me in every way?” He chuckled, and Mara felt her face flush. “Do you wonder why he would choose you of all people?” When she didn’t answer, he continued, his voice low. “Maybe I asked for you.”   
  
The implications of that statement made Mara freeze, and her arms dropped to her sides, power lost.  He had managed to take her by surprise yet again. There was a time where she would have lashed out at him, but she found herself unable to, now.

“Did you?” she asked shakily.   
  
“What do you believe?” He continued to move towards her, but Mara was unable to maintain an appropriate distance between them. The man before her had changed again, radiating power and perhaps…lust? She wasn't sure.   
  
“I’m not like him, Mara” he said finally, when she did not answer. “I would never hold dominion over your body”. His gaze drifted slowly over her, and made Mara feel that his words were somehow false. When he met her eyes again, they were bright, burning with something strange, alive with a mysterious force. “I think he suspected, and offered you to me. How does that make you feel?” His gaze continued to probe her. “That he thinks of you only as a woman, as something to possess and utilise?”   
  
Mara swallowed heavily, the memories making her feel queasy.   
  
“Does that make you angry?” He leaned in close to her, his face near to hers.   
  
“I-I don’t know,” she replied hesitantly. The truth was, she realised, very little made her angry any more – her emotions barely rose above mild irritation, and even that was unusual. Until now. And somehow, as she held his gaze, unwilling or unable to turn away, she felt herself slipping away. Into a trance, almost. He seemed ready to take her, to possess her, much like the Emperor had, and in those few moments, Mara could do nothing but let him.   
  
He moved closer still, almost as if to kiss her, his lips hovering mere inches from hers. But at the last moment, he diverted across her cheek to whisper lowly in her ear. “It makes me angry,” he said, deeply, dangerously.   
  
And abruptly his mood shifted yet again as he moved swiftly away. He reached the small table and picked up the datadisc, twirling it around slowly in his fingers.   
  
Recovering enough to speak, Mara told him, “It’s encoded.” She managed a touch of defiance in her voice.   
  
“So you did try to read it?” Schmendrick turned back to face her and stared at her intently.   
  
Mara wasn't sure if it was pleasure or disappointment masked on his face. She shrugged dismissively, eager to show him that he had no effect on her. Trying to shake of the uneasiness he had made her feel.   
  
“I don’t mind,” he continued. He sank down into the chair by the holounit. “It tells me something.”   
  
“And what is that?”   
  
His gaze returned to her, his eyes cloudy and undefinable. “That you are not a drone, or a slave. That there is still a will there, under all of the cold bitterness and apathy.” He smiled again, but there was no happiness to be found in his face. “That I might have use for you.”   
  
“You say I am not a slave, but you seek to make me one?” She replied hotly, a sudden, remembered anger flushing through her. “You tell me plainly that you wish to use me?”   
  
Schmendrick simply leaned back in his chair, seemingly pleased with her outburst. “Aren’t you doing the same with me?” He cocked his head and Mara felt a slight twinge of his presence in her mind. She swatted at it angrily, clenching her teeth.   
  
“Aren’t you exploiting my position in order to claim revenge on those who have wronged you?” He stood again, and advanced towards her. “Aren’t you manipulating the fact that I need you to help me, to achieve your own aims?” He was again within arms length of her, and his hand reached out to lightly cup her cheek. “Don’t you enjoy the fact that I make you angry, that I frustrate you? Isn’t it good to _feel_ again?”   
  
Mara nodded mutely, unable to back away from his touch. Again, he had entranced her, unlike anyone else, even the Emperor had done before. It scared and exhilarated her at the same time, because he was right. The anger, the fear, the thoughts of revenge – she remembered them now, and they felt wonderful, lighting up her soul and drive once again.   
  
“Are you prepared to let me use you as you are using me?” He finished, withdrawing his hand, simply holding her gaze with his own.   
  
Mara was unable to speak, but she was sure he already knew what her answer was.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“Have you succeeded, my Hand?” The Emperor’s rasp cut through the darkness.   
  
Selano approached, kneeling before him in reverence. “Yes, Master. The hormone will be administered daily to her. Should the magician play his part, there will be no doubt of conception”.   
  
“And Jade will have no knowledge of it?”   
  
“No, Master,” she grinned evilly. “She will have no knowledge of our plans.”   
  
“Good. Once we have a child there will be no need for either of them” The Emperor leaned back into his throne. “When that time comes, I will give you the honour of performing their execution.”   
  
Filled with elation and satisfaction, Selano rose. “Thank you, my Master”.   



	8. Chapter 8

_“Even the greatest wizards grow old, like other men, and die.” He swayed and nodded, and then snapped awake again: a tall, shabby man, smelling of dust and drink. “I told you that I am older than I look,” he said. “I was born mortal, and I have been immortal for a long, foolish time, and one day I will be mortal again; so I know something that a unicorn cannot know. Whatever can die is beautiful – more beautiful than a unicorn, who lives forever, and who is the most beautiful thing in the world.”_   


* * *

  
  
  
Dagobah was no longer the land of exile for former Jedi Master Yoda. It had become his prison. The trees and vines, imbued with the Dark Side, had spread from the cave, found their way across the swamp and into his home. It took all of his energy, now, to keep them at bay, to simply keep the balance of the Light Side within him, to that of the cave’s power. But still, the land and the plants grew about his home, throughout his hut, encasing him within the cocoon of captivity.   
  
Yoda had allowed it to be so, had let the darkness grow around him, for there was little hope left. To completely overpower the Dark Side would surely alert the Emperor to his location and he was sure that even after all of these years, Palpatine would relish hunting him down. They had never, after all, finished their duel in the Senate chambers.   
  
He wondered, sometimes, why the Force refused to take him into its embrace, he was surely ready enough. The boy had left him long ago and his failure was complete and unchangeable.   
  
“He is a boy no longer, Master.” The cool, crisp vice drifted on the wind. Obi-Wan was there, although the barrier between them had long since broadened. He could no longer see his old friend’s face, glimmering inside the darkness of his hut. But his voice was soothing, questioning, as it had always been. “The Emperor has taken him into his service at last,” Obi-Wan continued, a note of sadness permeating his tones. He had always been fond of the boy. Too fond, in Yoda’s opinion.   
  
“Long have I feared this,” Yoda said, the rasp of age and weariness all too evident in his voice. “Lost before, I believed he was. But worse it is now.”   
  
“I should have told him about Anakin.” Obi-Wan spoke regretfully.   
  
“And succeeded in bringing this day sooner, you would have, Obi-Wan,” Yoda told him reproachfully.   
  
Obi-Wan’s sigh seemed like the winter wind blowing swiftly through the hut. “But surely we made the wrong choice somewhere, Master? The Force couldn’t possibly have meant for this to happen.”   
  
“And yet happen it did,” Yoda said firmly. Then relaxing, Yoda stoked his small fire, looking for answers in the fiery depths. “Take the blame, I do, Obi-Wan,” he said after a long silence. “Too hard on the boy, I was.”   
  
“I feel there is conflict within Luke, Master Yoda.” Obi-Wan’s voice became clearer. “There is still hope he could defeat Palpatine, not join him.”   
  
“And become Emperor in his place.” Yoda shook his head. “Wallowed in bitterness for years, he has. Only anger and the Dark Side can claim him now.” But still, Yoda thought, why would the Force not let him go, if there was no hope? Perhaps Obi-Wan had a point. There was always hope – right up until the boy pledged himself fully to the Dark Side. Had that happened, Yoda would know. Luke had not been claimed by the darkness yet, so they might still have a chance. If only he had followed the boy when he had run, if only he had been able to harness his reckless nature and had been sympathetic to his anxieties.   
  
It was not the way he had trained Jedi for nine hundred years, but he couldn’t deny that the Jedi Order had crumbled under his feet while he clung to old traditions, old ways. And Luke was Anakin’s son.   
  
“I will go to Luke, Master.” Obi-Wan’s voice was resolute.   
  
Yoda could not argue. He decided to listen to the Force, even if it was telling him nothing. “Very well, Obi-Wan,” he said gravely. “Bring the boy back to us, you must.”   


* * *

  
  
  
Luke sat in his dark, gloomy quarters, spinning the newly acquired datadisc in his hand aimlessly. He wanted so badly to open it, to retrieve his father’s gift, his last testament to him, but he was afraid. Once he knew its contents then there would be nothing left, nothing more to learn about his father, nothing more he could impart to Luke.   
  
He had sent his servants and attendants away hours ago, needing the time and the space. Jade had been placed in a bedroom adjourning his own, a clear indication of her status as mistress. The door remained locked, Luke alone having the ability to open it – there was no key on her side. He was sure that this infuriated her, such an obvious label of her status which the entire palace would know, but it served Luke’s purposes easily enough. He could not have her invading his quarters without his consent.   
  
Although she held the status of his mistress, he had not yet bedded her. If Luke had his way, it would remain as such. Not that he didn’t have the desire. No, the woman had ignited in him feelings he long thought dead or at least blunted. But giving in to such urges would shift the balance of power between them, and he liked it the way it was. It served his purposes better for them to remain physically distant. He could not allow himself to show any weakness, not even to his partner in this plot. _Especially_ to her.   
  
Deciding that he had stalled and fretted enough, Luke carefully placed the datadisc in his personal console. A holo appeared immediately, accompanied by a cool, metallic female voice asking for a password. Luke considered this for a moment, then typed in _Skywalker_. He thought that surely it was too obvious a password – Jade had said it had been encoded, and he gave her enough credit in being able to hack such a simple system. To his surprise, the voice intoned a cool; _Password accepted_. For a moment Luke was disappointed in his father. Surely if the information was so important, only he would be able to access it? Had the disc fallen into the Emperor’s hands he could have easily broken the seal.   
  
But he soon found his disillusions to be misplaced as the disc asked for voice coded confirmation. Pleased, Luke said; “Skywalker,” watching the holo shift and bright coloured bars mimicking the rise and fall in his voice pattern, evaluating it.   
  
_Voice confirmation accepted. Stand by for DNA analysis._  
  
So there was a final test. Luke watched as a small flat surface slid out from the centre of the console, just below where he had inserted the disc. Vader was no fool, as Luke had always known. Only someone with Skywalker blood would be able to view the disc’s contents. He felt his heart soar with pride at this knowledge. This message was only for him, and no one else. Without hesitation, Luke placed his thumb on the pad, wincing only slightly as he felt a thousand pricks dig into his skin and his blood seep into the surface.   
  
Pulling his hand away, Luke placed the weeping flesh to his mouth and waited several minutes for confirmation as the coloured bars danced across the holo again.   
  
He did not wait long. Soon a great figure rose before him, projecting itself onto the floor, a few feet from the console. It was the imposing black-clad form of his father, the inimitable Darth Vader.   
  
“My son.” He spoke in those deep timbre tones that Luke heard in his dreams, and he drank them in, certain that he would never hear them again. “If you are watching this it means that what I have long suspected has come to pass – I am dead and the Emperor has designs to make you his new apprentice.”   
  
“Father…” Luke managed out the strangled word, his arm raising unconsciously towards the figure, as if to touch him, to grab his cloak and hold onto it as a child. He could do neither, but only watch, and listen.   
  
“I regret that we did not have more time together, Luke,” he continued. “You do not know what it meant to find you, to unearth the Jedi’s treachery, only to be pulled away by the will of the Force. It is strong, my son. Already I feel it pulling at me, telling me that it is my time. I will try to hold on, to teach you, to learn with you, but the Force has always been stronger than any of us. Know that, my son. I learned it too late in life.”   
  
Luke, still in shock, felt hot tears prickle in the back of his eyes. There was nothing he could do to bring his father back, but here, before him, was a piece of Darth Vader for him to cherish.   
  
“Do not trust the Emperor,” his father was still speaking. “Learn from him, take what you need to know about his power, try to harness the Force as he has, but never place your faith in him. Shield yourself, for he will try to look into your heart and use your fears against you. Do not let him, for it will mean only death to others and your own enslavement. Do this, and you can defeat him, you can be more powerful than any being in the galaxy. You can avenge me, and you can rule.”   
  
“But how, father?” Luke burst out, not caring that he couldn’t possibly hear him. “How can I do what you ask?” His own plans were in place, yes, but Luke knew they were clumsy at best, and would take luck itself to achieve.   
  
“Do not worry, my son,” Vader said. He must have anticipated his reaction, Luke deduced. “You will not be alone. Inside this disc I have encoded all that you need to know about the Force, and all you may wish to know about me, and the life that was stolen from both of us. Whatever questions you may have, whenever you need someone to turn to, I will be here to give you strength, if not answers.”   
  
Lord Vader paused for a moment, and only the sound of his deep mechanical breathing could be heard. Luke did not think it was possible, but his next, last words were even deeper. “Do not grieve for me, my son,” he said, the room shaking with the force and timbre of his voice. “For much is wasted in that sorry pursuit. Think of retribution, of justice, and that one day you will join me in the Force.”   



	9. Chapter 9

_“About King Haggard I know only what I have heard,” he said. “He is an old man, stingy as late November, who rules over a barren country by the sea. Some say the land was green and soft once, before Haggard came, but he touched it and it withered. As for the Red Bull… it is the devil to whom Haggard has sold his soul. The Bull belongs to Haggard. Haggard belongs to the Bull”._   


* * *

  
  
  
“Come closer, boy.”

By now Luke had come to know the nuances in the Emperor’s deep, rasping voice. He had studied him closely – he knew when he was angry, when he was pleased, although his expression and tone seemed to change little. But he knew when the Emperor was lying, and knew when he was being deceived.   
  
He could gauge his intent, his action, and his motives.   
  
They were walking through the Palace gardens, a strange occurrence, for the Emperor seemed to prefer to cloister himself inside his tower. Luke, too, preferred to keep to his quarters, to soak up the remnants of the Force his father had left, to watch the holos he had left him. Vader had been thorough in this regard – there were hundreds of hours recorded, not only with Vader talking to him, informing him, but with various images and videos scrounged from security holos, news reports and the like. That was how he had learned about the Clone Wars and the Jedi insurgency, how he had learned about the intricacies of the Empire and many within her ranks. Knowledge that he was sure would continue to be useful.   
  
“I am disappointed in you, Schmendrick.” The Emperor walked slowly through the ornate paths, Luke a deferential step behind him. “I am beginning to believe my faith in your abilities was misplaced.”   
  
It was true that Luke’s training was going rather poorly, at least in the Emperor’s estimation. Simple skills he had learned with Yoda had come swiftly back to him; levitation, increasing power and energy output, mind control.  In his brief time with Vader, Luke had primarily focused on shielding and deception, with little time to learn much else. But Luke had no fire in him, no fervour when he sparred with practice droids, or exercised any skills, old or new. A large part of him still considered the Force his enemy, and he was reluctant to give in to it as Palpatine had wished. He had hit a wall with his abilities and could not seem to overcome his anxiety.   
  
“I am sorry, Master,” he answered regretfully.   
  
The Emperor growled lowly. “That is your problem, my boy,” he said dangerously. “You have no _will_.”   
  
Luke had no answer, and continued to follow him through the flowery paths. They cut a sharp image against the greenery and colour, two figures in black, both pale and unused to the sun that shone brightly down on them. Neither of them found beauty in it. There was no pollution in the gardens, no smog from the city that surrounded them, but that seemed to trouble Palpatine’s breathing even more, sending his voice still lower. It had been so long since Luke had breathed such clean, crisp air; it felt cold and sharp in his lungs. No, he did not belong in the sun.   
  
Palpatine stopped unexpectedly, pulling the edges of his robes tighter around him. “Look, boy.” He raised a gnarled hand and pointed to a nearby clearing. The Emperor’s Hand, Selano, was training there, surrounded by dozens of remotes which hovered ominously around her. For a moment it reminded him of his own scant training on the _Millennium Falcon_ all those years ago, but there was no lightsaber in Selano’s hand. She stood inert, her eyes closed and her long blond hair tightly braided, giving her a severe, pinched look.   
  
In the next instant the remotes began to fire almost simultaneously, but Selano was ready for them. Luke was amazed to see her duck, weave and flip out of the laser’s path to safety. After a few minutes of avoidance, she seemed to grow bored, and deftly pulled a vibroblade out of her boot. One by one she attacked the remotes as they tried to hover out of her path. But she diligently sliced through and deactivated each one. Luke’s long practiced thriftiness, learned from his years in the circus, agonised at the waste, but he could not help but be impressed by Selano’s lack of exhaustion, as if the exercise had been effortless for her.   
  
He was about to comment on this to the Emperor, but the old man sensed his intent and his hand came up again, halting him. “The lesson is not over,” Palpatine said simply.   
  
As Luke turned back, he saw movement in the tress behind the Hand. She was standing perfectly still again, but he could see her eyes moving, calculating. A man pounced from his hiding spot, and she jumped out of his path, landing a swift kick to his belly and sending him sprawling. Unperturbed, he leapt at her again, drawing a knife from his belt. Selano’s own vibroblade had been discarded after her exercise, but she made no move to retrieve it. Instead she took on her attacker without any weaponry, dislocating his wrist with a firm twist and forcing him to drop his knife. He struggled with his other hand and tried to land a punch on her, but she was too quick.   
  
It took less than half a minute for her to have him flat on his back completely under her power. She drew her blaster from its holster and casually pointed it at his face. The man slackened, defeated. “Alright, I give,” he sighed, and moved to sit up. But Selano’s foot came down firm against his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. “What…” It was all he managed to say before she shot him directly between the eyes.   
  
Luke, having seen enough, turned to the Emperor, who had a strange, pleasant smile on his twisted face. “You must lose quite a few personnel this way, Master,” he said calmly.   
  
The Emperor smiled. “It is not a loss if the person is unworthy,” he said simply.   
  
“You allow her that kind of power?”   
  
“If any of her actions displeased me, she would know it.” The Emperor turned towards him. “She is a devoted, capable servant.”   
  
Luke did not answer, but in his opinion, Selano held very little true loyalty to her Master. Probably even less than Luke did.   
  
“Unlike you, my apprentice,” The Emperor continued. His eyes were piercing Luke’s now, the dark, sickly yellow staring him down with disappointment and anger. “Are you not concerned Schmendrick,” he asked, “that she may supersede your position?” He moved closer to him, until Luke could feel his stale, hot breath burning into his skin. “She covets it.”   
  
“I’m not concerned,” answered Luke calmly, a strange hollowness to his voice.   
  
“And if she tried to take your place?” The Emperor’s voice quickened. “Would you fight for it? Would you kill her for it?”   
  
“I - ”   
  
“That is why you fail,” he snapped. “I feel no _lust_ for power in you, no hate. You should want her dead for even thinking of overthrowing you, but you do not, and _that_ is why you disappoint me.”   
  
“Perhaps I do not fear her enough to hate her.”   
  
“You are a fool not to see the danger before your own eyes.” The Emperor looked disgusted. “A Sith would be very sure to exterminate all opposition, every threat, every possible challenge to his power. He wants, and he takes, and he possesses, but you do none of these things.” In his eyes danced a fiery glow as he moved closer still. “What do you want, boy? What do you _want_?”   
  
_To kill you._ The thought rose to his mind in an instant, and with it came all the pain, all the anger at the man before him, at the Jedi who had put him in this position. For the first time in years, Luke felt the hot swell of anger, of desire, full and vibrant. For a moment he felt like striking out at the Emperor, to twist his fragile neck, to feel it crack under his powerful, vengeful hands. To triumph over his dead, lifeless body, to see his vengeance fulfilled.   
  
Palpatine began to laugh, a wild, dangerous laugh that did not belong to a sane man. He backed away, nodded eagerly. “Good, boy,” he smiled, “that is a start.”   
  
He started to walk again and Luke calmed himself before following. His equilibrium was soon restored, but the memory of his rage stayed with him, a small, unquenchable fire. It had felt so good. The Emperor must have misappropriated his anger at the Hand, he could not have realised Luke’s intent for him, or he would not be so pleased. No, Luke assured himself, Palpatine was still fooled by his guise of service.   
  
“Is Jade proving to be a worthy gift?” The Emperor asked, his voice once again slow and deep.   
  
“She is, thank you Master”.   
  
The Emperor shot him a suspicious glance, but did not slow his pace. “My sources tell me that you have not made full use of her…skills.”   
  
“You have spies watching me, Master?”   
  
“Of course,” the Emperor said unapologetically.   
  
Luke took a deep breath. He had been expecting it for some time, questions about his relationship with Mara – or lack thereof. Especially when he had seemed so grateful when the Emperor had spoken of his intentions to give Mara to him. “I wish to court her,” he said quietly.   
  
The Emperor did not seemed surprised, only a little intrigued. “You wish to make her your consort.” He closed his eyes, the way he always did before he invaded Luke’s mind. But he had learned to block it, to show the Emperor only what he wanted to see. To control the thoughts the Emperor could probe out of him. “There are others, far more worthy of such a position,” he continued, skimming the surface of Luke’s mind. “But Jade is damaged, like you are. Yes…”   
  
Luke quickly reinforced his barriers. He had come a little too close to the truth with that last statement. “Will you permit me to keep her, Master?” He asked with a false contrition he had long learned to cultivate. The Emperor was too self-indulgent to even notice a hint of deception.   
  
“Very well, Schmendrick,” his eyes returned to the path ahead. “But women are a corruptive force,” he added severely. “And they are not to be trusted.”   
  
Luke considered this. “Yet you choose women as your Hands, among your most faithful servants” he questioned.   
  
“Women are to be _used_ , my boy,” he countered. “There is a difference.” He turned keenly to Luke again. “They can be most useful creatures. Efficient. But you keep them reigned, or they become unpredictable.”   
  
For a moment, Luke thought of his mother, and what role she might have played in her father’s life. He wondered if perhaps the Emperor had contributed to her death, and his anger burned anew. And for the first time, he felt indignant on behalf on Mara. In their months together they had not become close, but she had become familiar, he was used to seeing her face and hearing her perspective. He did not like the thought of the Emperor using her any more than his mother, whoever she was.   
  
But Luke bowed his head in a false understanding. “I understand, Master.” And they walked in silence for the remainder of the day.   



	10. Chapter 10

_One by one, the sad beasts of the Midnight Carnival came whimpering, sneezing and shuddering awake.  Only the harpy had not slept, and now she sat staring at the sun without blinking._

_Schmendrick said, “If she frees herself first, we are lost.”_   
  


* * *

  
  
  
They were a secretive pair, any fool could see that. The magician seemed paranoid beyond belief and spent most of his time locked in his quarters. When he wasn’t training with the Emperor that was.   
  
Selano couldn’t deny it hurt to see the Emperor waste so much time on the magician. He had obviously not lived up to his supposed potential, that much was clear. She would by far be a more worthy candidate. Although it satisfied Selano to know that the Emperor had entrusted her with the responsibility of watching him and Jade. All of her other duties had been postponed for the time being and her sole efforts were concentrated on Schmendrick and discovering his secrets. It pleased her, to see firsthand the downfall of her former tutor.   
  
For Jade had been her mentor, when Selano had first come under the tutelage of the Emperor. She’d taught her how to fight, the basics of subterfuge, stealth; all she needed to know about becoming the Emperor’s Hand. Stupidly, Jade had never even suspected that Selano would take her place, such was her loyalty to the Emperor. Mara had believed Selano was being trained for the underground intelligence force, and had been completely blindsided when she had superseded her. That had been Jade’s final legacy. Selano knew she only kept her station so long as she was useful to the Emperor. She had learned from her mentor’s mistakes, and would not suffer her fate.   
  
For Jade was no more than a vessel for the magician’s child, a child the Emperor assured her, would be immensely strong in the Force.   
  
But why Jade? Apparently Schmendrick had taken a liking to her, although Selano couldn’t see why. In her opinion Jade had no beauty left in her. She didn’t have Selano’s youth, or fire, of that she was certain. Her only real attribute had been her vibrant red hair but even that had dulled to a dirty auburn over the years. Her eyes had once held spark, but they were dull, now, vacant. And yet still, the magician stared at Jade when he thought the paramour wasn't looking.   
  
She had studied the look carefully, it seemed like affection…desire. At yet he had not acted on it.   
  
It was a puzzling thought. Selano herself had supervised the drugs which had been administered to Jade through her food. There was no doubt she had been digesting them. It was a specialised medicine, direct from the Emperor’s scientists with a guarantee of 100% increased fertility. If Schmendrick had slept with her, there would have been no doubt that she should have fallen pregnant by now. The only conclusion she could draw was that Schmendrick had not taken full liberties with his property.   
  
And yet this did not trouble Selano, in fact it worked to her advantage. The magician would not be able to resist her own charms, of that she was sure. Certainly the pregnancy would be uncomfortable, but the Emperor would be immensely pleased that she had produced a child for him. Another victory she could take away from Jade, Selano thought maliciously. And with a child she could raise for herself, and extension of her will, her blood. It would fortify her line, the beginnings of a powerful stronghold unlike the Galaxy had ever seen.   
  
Yes...the magician would fall in love with her, would do anything for her, even take down the Emperor. And if he got himself killed in the process, then all the better. If he survived, well, she could surely dispatch him easily enough. She just needed to gain his trust, and draw him away from Jade.   
  
Then, Selano thought with barely contained glee; then the Empire would be hers.   


* * *

  
  
  
Luke’s room was dark, as it always was. The sheets he lay in were course, but Luke had never become accustomed to finery. Satin and silk was not for him, not the smooth luxurious softness that apparently befitted someone of his position. He had grown up on a desert world, after all, and he was habituated to the itchy, rough texture of sand that infested every material, no matter how clean. And in the years following his liberation from Tatooine he had not found a more comfortable bed to rest in. So now he could not bear the softness against his skin, even though he had the opportunity for it.   
  
He slept little, anyway, a few hours a night perhaps, but that was not cause to trouble him. He needed the time to plan, to strategise, to practice.   
  
_“Luke.”_   
  
The sound sent him shooting upright in his bed. He had not heard his name spoken from another’s lips in a long time, not since… At first he thought it was his father, perhaps he had found a path back to him through the Force. But it didn’t sound like him. The voice wasn't deep enough for a start. It lacked that heavy timbre of authority that had always been associated with Darth Vader. But he recognised the lilt in the tone, the light airiness of the intonation and the rich, modulated accent.   
  
It was Kenobi.   
  
_“Luke.”_ A figure appeared before him, the grey-ish blue form of his former tutor. Although his image had dimmed over the years, Ben’s face still held that grave, intense expression, although gone was the mischievous glint in his eye, making his face appear more marked and aged.   
  
The last time he had seen Ben – Obi-Wan – had been before Luke had departed Dagobah close to ten years previous. He had given a more passionate plea for Luke to remain than Yoda had, but it had been too late. The dream of being a Jedi had died, along with his will.   
  
Ben had worn the same disappointed expression then, the same one that stared back at Luke through the darkened bedroom.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Luke asked shortly, wondering why Ben had waited so long to contact him. He certainly hadn’t cared whether or not he’d starved and died after leaving Dagobah. The old man didn’t even look remorseful, now that Luke knew just how horribly Ben had deceived him about his parentage. “Go away,” Luke spat at him, anger boiling to the surface at the man – ghost – before him.   
  
“I am here for you, Luke,” Ben answered evenly. “For your soul.”   
  
“Haven’t you taken enough from me?” Luke edged closer to the end of the bed, throwing the rough sheets aside. “It’s because of you I had to exile myself, escape from the Empire and peddle tricks among the simpletons of the Outer Rim. Because of you and your _Jedi_ that I’ve hardly lived at all these past ten years.” Luke swallowed heavily, hot rage pulsing behind his eyelids. “Because of you I never knew my father.”   
  
“Oh, Luke,” Ben shook his head sadly. “That’s just not true.” He took several steps forward, but stopped before taking a seat on the bed beside him. “If the Emperor had found out about you, about your connection to Anakin, it is most likely he would have killed you as an infant in order to stop any usurpation or betrayal from his loyal apprentice.” Ben looked at him sadly, a wistful expression crossing his face. “That’s if you were lucky,” he added ruefully. “He might very well have taken you away from your father and raised you himself, in his own image. If that had been that case than nothing could have saved you.”   
  
“You consider death to be the _favourable_ option?” There had been a time when Luke had idolised the Jedi, but now Luke was beginning to see why his father had spoken harshly about them. They were belligerent, irrational fools.   
  
Kenobi shook his head slowly, as if disappointed. “A true Jedi would rather die than turn to the Dark Side.”   
  
Luke laughed humourlessly. “Well I was never a true Jedi, was I?” His voice was filled with resentment. “I heard that enough from Yoda. I never had the patience or the temperament…or the genetics,” he added forcefully.   
  
“You lacked the confidence, Luke,” Ben replied softly, blue eyes misting over with regret. “It was the lack of faith in yourself that prevented you from destroying the Death Star. The same affliction that prevents you from fully accessing the Dark Side now.”   
  
That halted Luke for a moment. How did he know of his failure in that regard? “That’s no concern of yours,” he said eventually, all too aware that his voice was shaky.   
  
“You could still be a great Jedi, Luke,” Ben entreated, “you only need to believe in yourself.”   
  
Luke felt his resolve harden and his hatred grow. “And that same logic holds true for becoming a Sith?”   
  
Kenobi closed his eyes momentarily. “And if you master the Dark Side, avenge your father by destroying Palpatine?” he asked. “What then? Become Emperor in his stead?”   
  
“I – that doesn’t matter.” In truth, Luke had thought very little about what he would do if he managed to obtain his revenge. “When it’s done I’ll decide which path to take.” And if he had to use the Dark Side to accomplish his aims, so be it, he thought silently.   
  
“It is as Yoda always said,” said Kenobi forlornly. “Your mind always on the here and now, never on the future, on the lives that will be affected by your choices.”   
  
“Why are you here, then, if I am so…unworthy?” Luke asked bitterly.   
  
Ben reached a spectral hand to rest coolly on Luke’s shoulder, and he felt a jolt through the Force. “I warn you, Luke, once you have killed the Emperor, achieved your aims, there is no going back. Now, you still have a chance to save yourself. You have not embraced the Dark Side yet, I know that. There is still hope for you.”   
  
“Hope?” Luke rose to his feet incredulous, throwing off Kenobi’s ghostly clutches. “Go away, old man,” he said, anger mounting, fists clenched. “That word means nothing to me.”   
  
Kenobi sighed, perhaps realising that the anger Luke felt for him might very well be the final catalyst for him to fall to the Dark Side. “As you wish,” he said sadly, bowing his aged, weary head. “But I will be with you Luke, always.”   
  
His spectral form disappeared then, and the room was once again thrown into darkness. Luke returned to his bed, agitated, unhappy. And long into the night he still felt the presence of the old Jedi, watching over him.   
  



	11. Chapter 11

_But the skull was laughing again; this time making a thoughtful, almost kindly noise. "Remember what I told you about time," it said. "When I was alive, I believed — as you do — that time was at least as real and solid as myself, and probably more so. I said 'one o'clock' as though I could see it, and 'Monday' as though I could find it on the map; and I let myself be hurried along from minute to minute, day to day, year to year, as though I were actually moving from one place to another. Like everyone else, I lived in a house bricked up with seconds and minutes, weekends and New Year's Days, and I never went outside until I died, because there was no other door. Now I know that I could've walked through the walls.”_   


* * *

  
  
  
“My son.”

His father always began their conversations that way, the endearment sounding almost loving through his father’s deep baritone, which in rhythm with his breathing mechanism sounded almost musical to Luke’s ears. He wasn't sure when he began thinking of the recordings as real conversation with his father, but Luke needed that connection. He talked and Vader almost seemed to answer, either he had anticipated his responses or perhaps, so Luke preferred to believe, he was reaching out to him somehow, from wherever he resided in the Force. That thought gave him comfort.  
  
He spent many nights locked away in his dark quarters, the hologram of his father casting light over his doubts and fears.  
  
“I have told you all I know about the Empire, all you need to know to take down the Emperor,” his father began. “I have shared with you statistics, analysis and the cold hard facts. To most, this would seem to be all you need to continue – all that you need from me.”  
  
“No, father…” Luke didn’t like the finality of Vader’s words – he couldn’t be abandoned now, he wasn't nearly ready enough to complete the legacy his father had left for him.  
  
“Do not worry, my son,” he seemed to reply. “I am not leaving you yet. But what I now have to share with you is not pleasant, or logical, because I now choose to tell you about myself.” The holographic Vader took a deep breath, a sound that seemed to shatter and break the very air around him. “You have to understand, Luke, not all I tell you will be easy for you to hear. There is deep betrayal, mistrust and anger in my past, actions and decisions I deeply regret, for I cannot lay all of the blame on others. I hope you understand that all of the choices I have made, I did because I believed they were right.”  
  
Vader paused for a moment, to let his words sink in. Luke gave a firm nod of this head, giving his consent to prepare himself at least, if not to urge his father to continue.  
  
“No doubt you have wondered how you came to be in this world, my son,” he continued, although his words became slower, as he wanted to make sure Luke digested every syllable. “So first I am going to tell you about your mother, because for most of my life my very reason for being was her.”  
  
Luke felt his lungs constrict. _His mother_. He had wondered about the woman who had given him life – his early years on Tatooine were spent pining after a father who had conquered the stars, who his Uncle had often scolded him for being too much like. But later, when he had grown older, Luke’s thoughts had shifted to that enigma, that essence of whom his guardians had spoken nothing of. Had she been a willing participant in his father’s destiny, his path, or had she been a helpless pawn in the grander scheme of the Force? Why did he have no memories, no recollection of her, when his father’s presence had resonated inside of him, stirred a vague feeling of unity in the Force?  
  
“I wish I had a holo to show you her beauty, Luke, but the Emperor succeeded in destroying all records of her.” Vader’s voice hardened then and Luke felt his hatred of Palpatine grow ever deeper.  
  
“She had hair of the finest shimmersilk, eyes that you could fall into, that held you captive for all eternity. Even now, I wish…”  
  
His father broke off, and was silent for a long time. Luke wondered briefly if he possessed the ability to cry under his suit, or whether his tear ducts had been burnt and obliterated with so much else of his body. In any case, it was clear that Vader was deeply upset, and even though it was impossible for feelings to be translated through a hologram, Luke felt his heart die a little.  
  
“She was a Queen from the planet Naboo when I first met her,” he continued, “and I knew the moment I saw her that it was my destiny to marry her, to serve her in any way I could, to move all the stars in the galaxy just to see her smile. I will not embarrass myself by sharing with you the words I used to court her, only say that my heart knew no bounds.”  
  
Again he paused, and although Luke had no way of knowing, he was sure his father was smiling.  
  
“My love for her, our love for each other, was the ultimate happiness in my life,” Vader’s voice grew wistful. “The thrill of piloting a ship, the strength that flowed through me when wielding a lightsaber, even the plaudits and adulation of being a Jedi paled in comparison to the way I felt about your mother. Keep this in mind, Luke, because there is great tragedy in what I am about to share with you, and actions on my part that might make you question my devotion to her.”  
  
Luke leant forward on his seat eagerly, drinking in every word. He didn’t care what his father’s story actually contained; he just wanted to hear it. No more lies, or half-truths – he wanted to know.  
  
“If there is one great lesson I have to impart to you, Luke,” Vader said, his voice once again growing tender. “Is that the brief time I spent with your mother was worth everything to me. Love, my son, is more powerful than anything else I could teach you, more powerful than the Force itself. I do not regret that I risked everything to save that love, to keep it for my own. Any choice made from love cannot be wrong, although the Emperor may try to convince you otherwise, to use whatever love you possess against you. I allowed him to do that, which was my one great folly and only true regret.”  
  
Vader took a deep breath, and Luke could see it had not been easy for him, to dig up those emotions and memories. That his father would do that for him, suffer through the sadness it caused, only solidified Luke’s compete adoration and love.  
  
“So now, my son, if you are ready, I will tell you of your mother.” Vader’s voice grew even softer, until it was a mere, reverent whisper. “I will tell you about my Padme.”

* * *

 

Mara looked idly around her quarters, dismissing her attendants with a wave of her hand before she began to eat. She didn’t like to have anyone too close to her, although as the magician’s mistress she had scores of maids and assistants who helped her dress, brought her clothes and jewellery, insisted that she eat that specially prepared food that was rumoured to act as an aphrodisiac for her master. It had not worked, Mara thought wryly.  
  
For she and the magician were as distant physically as they had been when she had kept him as a prisoner. They shared tactics and strategy, and she tried to help him with what little Force training she remembered. They sparred and while he was out of practice, he had no difficulty besting her every time. But that was as close as they came to becoming intimate with each other.  
  
She had contemplating seducing him, but had been too afraid. There had been allusions, clues that he desired her but what if she was rejected? It seemed a strange worry, for untouchable, aloof Mara Jade to be worried about such a dismissal, but she had so little pride left. So little faith in herself. Had not the Emperor discarded her as unworthy, as no longer young or useful enough for such duties? True, he had sent her to Schmendrick with the explicit purpose of seduction and betrayal, but Mara had expected him to make the first move.  
  
But sometimes, when they were working together, when the doors were barricaded and the Palace assumed they were otherwise engaged, she caught a glimpse of…something lurking beneath his expression. She couldn’t quite discern his intention – she had seen desire in other men’s eyes before, but the magician’s expression was different. Everything about him was different.  
  
That very fact was what was stopping her from turning him in to the Emperor, to informing her former master of the magician’s treachery and plans for betrayal. Mara was sure that information could help her reclaim a more impressive position in the court and yet she had no desire to see the magician fail. What’s more, she was _helping_ him.  
  
Mara pondered that thought while she finished her dinner. It wasn't to her tastes, exactly, but she tolerated it. Years of isolation in the prisons had taught her to be thankful for her lot. And then there was the small hope that the magician would succeed and overthrow the Emperor. It would all be worth it, then. He might give her command of an army, or a squadron of Star Destroyers – or even control of the Death Star. That would be a worthy price for her loyalty, for her help in him acquiring the throne to the entire Empire.  
  
The magician seemed to value her judgment, her abilities. And despite herself, she trusted him. As impossible as it seemed, Mara Jade had learned to trust again.  
  
She only hoped that she had placed it in the right man this time.  
  


* * *

 

 

Luke sat immobile at the comm station, staring at the blank section of wall where his father had been. If he had been emotionally capable of tears, Luke was sure that they would have been running down his face in streams. All that his father had told him, about his mother, their life together – the elation Vader had felt when Padme had told him she was carrying a child – the subsequent pain when he thought both were lost.  
  
And his father had shared with him his own given name – Anakin. Luke had heard it from Kenobi, of course, but it sounded different from his father’s lips. More real, for Kenobi had spoken only lies.  
  
Yet the passion Luke had heard and felt when Anakin had spoken of Padme – the love and devotion in his voice was tempered with acute sadness. Luke realised that he had never had the cause to speak about another that way. He had never cared enough about anyone for it to be justified. There had been women, of course, but they had few and far between, often kept away by Luke’s sullen and private nature. By the mystique of his position as “Master Magician.” No one had ever come close to inspiring the feelings his father had spoken of, and Luke couldn’t help but wonder if he was missing out on something beautiful.  
  
Luke was pulled from his musings by an insistent knocking at the doors that separated his quarters from Jade’s. Checking his chrono, he realised it was time for their nightly meeting.  
  
“Come in.” Luke managed to keep his voice steady, though he did not turn to greet her. In his hand he tightly gripped the datadisc that contained his father’s legacy. _Love_ , he’d said. _Love is more powerful than even the Force_.  
  
Jade appeared at his elbow and waited silently. Luke knew that if he took too long to acknowledge her, she would begin to upbraid him, as she often seemed to take delight in doing. There was real fire in her when they argued – and they _did_ argue. It was pleasant and challenging, to hear her opinions, to listen to her rip holes in his own. But her company was easy, even enjoyable.  
  
“Have you ever been in love?” he asked abruptly, turning his gaze towards her.  
  
Jade was obviously startled but covered it admirably. “No,” she answered after several long moments, obviously trying to discover his motives.  
  
But Luke was beyond caring about what weaknesses he might be showing to her. “Why do you think that is?” He knew his expression was plain, his curiosity evident in every pore.  
  
Jade bit her lip, thinking. She moved until she was facing him fully, almost perched on a spare area of the comm station. “The Emperor never really approved of…fraternisation,” she said eventually. “I suppose I never had the opportunity.”  
  
Luke nodded. He, on the other hand, had been presented with several opportunities, he had just never had the conviction or desire to take advantage of them. But strangely, now, he wondered what it would be like, to have someone by his side, to be willing to risk everything for that one other being, as his father had.  
  
“Have you?” Mara asked finally when he made no further attempts at conversation.  
  
A wave of nostalgia crossed over Luke, in remembrance of his early years. “I thought I was…once,” he admitted. For a moment images of Leia swam before his eyes, her kind words of encouragement, the kiss she had given him for luck. He had thought it was love at the time, his blind affection for her, the connection he was sure they’d shared. He had been extremely bitter for her death, for his failing to save her at Yavin.  
  
“It was love, but of a different kind,” he told Mara, all of his barriers and pretences dissolving. “I was too young to know the difference, then, but now…” Clarity dawned on him and Luke confronted his demons on that sore, niggling spot of guilt. “It was a bond, a friendship, perhaps.”

Luke looked up at Mara, and saw what almost seemed to be relief in her eyes. And as if a veil had been lifted, Luke saw Mara in an entirely new light. Wasn't she there for him, wasn't she risking her life for the chance that they both might succeed? He was using her knowledge and skills for his own purposes, that much he had told her, but the stakes seemed so much higher. Luke knew that she could not be just a pawn in his quest for vengeance, that he would do all he could to keep her safe, to help her achieve her own ends.  
  
But was that what his father had been talking about? Could he ever feel for Mara the same kind of passion that Anakin had exhibited? True, Luke spent hours in Jade’s presence, provoking her in order to see that spark in her green eyes she only seemed to display for him. They were small seeds, minute feelings at best, but could they grow into something more? It would mean there was a greater danger for her to be hurt, to die, for him to experience further loss. She might be able to alight his heart, and had equal ability to destroy that last ember of soul that was left in him.  
  
Was it worth the risk?  
  
Luke stood slowly, entranced by her, allowing his fingers to reach up and caress her cheek. He swallowed heavily, nervousness permeating his very being, but he was fortified when she did not pull away. He took further liberties, running his fingers through her auburn tresses, pushing them back behind her ears and leaning in closer to her.  
  
“What are you doing?” she asked shakily.  
  
“I don’t know,” Luke answered truthfully, his voice no more than a whisper. “Experimenting.”  
  
He kissed her then, his lips softly brushing hers. At first he was unsure of what to do, for he hadn’t been intimate with a woman in years, and even then it had not been as monumental, nor as electrifying.  
  
But he caressed her lips with his own, pulling her deeper against him as instinct took over, amazed by the heat that suddenly swept through his veins, pumping his heart vigorously. After her initial shock, Mara melted into his kiss, her hands finding their way around his waist and responding to his embrace eagerly.

His desire was quickly ignited, and he pressed her against the comm station where she was perched as she parted her legs to accommodate him and slipped her tongue into his mouth. Luke groaned and pressed his quickly forming hardness against her groin, and she wrapped her legs around him and gasped, her head falling back and exposing the white column of her throat. Luke attacked it with eagerness, kissing and sucking the soft skin hard enough to leave marks, but she whimpered against him in encouragement.

Luke couldn’t remember the last time he had been so excited and electrified by a woman, or if he ever had. Mara’s nimble fingers were unbuttoning his high-collared tunic, and slipped inside to caress his chest. She pulled up slightly to shrug the garment off and then resumed his attention to her throat and neck, smiling against her skin when he found a small spot on her neck which made her grind against him.  

“Sch-”

He pressed two fingers against her lips, stopping her from saying his alias. It was the first time she had done so, and Luke did not want to waste the gesture on a false name. She seemed to understand, falling silent and capturing his fingers between her teeth, biting down gently as she sensuously ran her tongue over his fingertips.

Luke groaned at the sensation, pulling his fingers out of her mouth and replacing them with his lips and tongue, kissing her forcefully. He ran his hand down her neck and palmed her breast, making her arch into him. But he did not linger, his fingers continuing their journey down the bodice of her dress, one of the ones she’d been given to incite his desire.

It finally worked, Luke thought to himself. No – it had worked the first moment he’d seen her, he was finally giving into that desire. Luke’s hand reached her thigh, and he pushed up the hem of her skirt, bunching it about her waist. His fingers hit the damp fabric of her underwear which covered her core, and Mara gasped.

“Oh yes,” she said breathlessly as he began to kiss her neck again, and she leveraged herself with palms against the comm station so he could remove her underwear. Once that duty was done, his fingers found their way between her legs again, still slick from where she had sucked on them and now dampened by her own moist heat.

He explored her folds, trying to locate the spot that gave her the most pleasure. After some clumsy experimentation, he found it and Mara let out a long moan, bucking gainst him. Luke pressed two fingers to her opening and gently pushed them inside, since he knew that it had been some time for her. For him as well, and it took some time to reacquaint himself with a woman’s body, to find that perfect rhythm with his thumb stroking her clit and his fingers thrusting inside of her.

Mara’s breathing became labored, her grip faltering on the comm unit as she leaned back to give him better leverage. He caught her with his free hand, his arm holding her firmly, not willing to let her fall back against the machinery. Her hands clutched at the bare skin of his back, her touch almost seeming to scorch his skin.

And Luke couldn’t wait any longer, his arousal uncomfortably tight against his trousers. Mara seemed to sense this, and her hands ran down his back and around to the clasp of his trousers, unzipping him swiftly and caressing his aching shaft. Luke bucked into her hands and let out a strangled groan – he almost came right then, but forced himself to be still, closing his eyes tightly as he tried to regain his composure.

“It’s alright,” Mara whispered, lifting herself up and kissing him gently, her hands running softly through his hair. “Just let go,” she murmured against his lips, and pulled him down to the comm station with her.

Desire surged through him, and Luke hooked his arms under her legs, urging her into position. He covered her body with his and kissed her deeply, entering her with a fluid stroke.

“Yes,” he moaned, encompassed by her tight heat. “Yes, _Mara_.” He began to move within her, and she wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper. Her breathing became fast and erratic, and he moaned her name again, gratified when she responded, bucking against his hard thrusts. She threw her head back and he latched onto her throat again, nipping at the soft skin and then taking it into his mouth, sucking on it forcefully.  She cried out and began to shake convulsively, her inner walls tightening around him. An uncontrollable surge of pleasure overwhelmed Luke as he thrust deeper and came with a force he’d never before experienced.

His hips slowed as he emptied himself into her, rocking gently against hers in the aftermath of his orgasm.

He lifted his head and saw that Mara was smiling, still breathing heavily from their exertions. “Quite an experiment,” she said.

He lifted himself onto his hands, still looming over her, and thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful as her beneath him, cheeks flushed and hair – wild and tangled – framing her face. Her eyes, so often a dull green, now sparkled a bright emerald. “It was,” he agreed, and leaned down to kiss her gently; leisurely.

He should ask her to leave in order to distance himself again. He should dismiss the incident as mindless sex, a release that they both needed. But Luke knew that it was more than that. He couldn’t send her away, even though he knew he should.

“So did you get the result you wanted?” she asked as he pulled up again.

Luke traced her cheek gently with his thumb and swallowed heavily. “Any good scientist will tell you that you need to repeat an experiment,” he said, falling easily into the metaphor. “To make sure of the results.”

Mara laughed, more freely than she had ever done in his presence, and the sound felt light in his heart. He stood and took her hand, helping her up and over to the bed. There he removed his boots and trousers, and she her dress until they were both naked before one another. She looked at him shyly, so he took her in his arms and kissed her fervently, whispering that she was beautiful.      
  
And then no more words were spoken, no more questions were asked as they fell into one another. They caressed and explored each other, gently this time. Luke traced the white scars which marred her arms and torso, kissing them gently and drawing the hurt away, his anger burning anew at the Emperor who had made her go through such harmful training. His body was unmarked, but when Mara looked at him he knew that she could sense the hurt in his soul, and she kept her gaze locked on his as they came together again. She held his face in her hands, and he felt the pain ebb; she was inside his mind as he was inside her body, and together they drove each other towards completion and peaceful oblivion.

They both knew that it was not love, not that grand aria of feeling and affection they had both been deprived of. They were testing one another, solidifying their alliance, searching to find something more between them…perhaps to fill the holes that marred each of them.  
  
It could last one night or an eternity, but Luke knew that it was the start of something terrifying in its danger, elation and intensity.  
  
There was no turning back.

 


	12. Chapter 12

_Wonder and love and great sorrow shook Schmendrick the Magician then, and came together inside him and filled him, filled him until he felt himself brimming and flowing with something that was none of these. This time, there was too much of it for him to hold; it spilled through his fingers and toes, welled up equally in his eyes and his hair and the hollows of his shoulders….He thought, or said, or sang, ‘I did not know that I was so empty, to be so full’._

* * *

 

 

Mara shifted in Schmendrick’s arms, unconsciously leaning closer to him, to the warmth of his bare skin pressed against her own. Her eyes were fixed on the lights and colours that adorned the ceiling above them, dancing in the pale, soft light of morning.  
  
The Magician had surprised her with his advances, although they had been far from unwelcome. She had uncovered, or he had chosen to reveal to her, the passion and drive that she knew lay just beneath the surface. She had cracked his cool, aloof shell and saw the man beneath, the man who she could no longer deny she had formed an impenetrable bond with.  
  
Schmendrick waved his hand airily and the translucent waves of colour scrambled and reformed into a long reptilian creature with a forked, thrashing tail.  
  
“A Krayt Dragon,” Schmendrick said softly, as the creature bared its small, sharp teeth and gave a howling roar which shook the room with its very force. Mara had heard about these creatures, native to Tatooine, although she had never seen one in the flesh before. Her duties had never led her to that particular dustbowl, and she wondered if that was where the Magician had come from.  
  
“The children loved this one,” he said softly, reminiscing about his life before coming under the tutelage of the Emperor. “Not many people have ever seen one, except in holos.”  
  
She had asked him when they had awoken, about the person he had been, about his nomadic existence, travelling with the Carnival. For in her heart she was a Coruscanti and nothing else, and she wondered where his berth had been, his home. Schmendrick had been reluctant to give her many details, but he had been willing to demonstrate the highlights of his act, the way he used the Force to create images, sights and sounds for the patrons. How he had become a Master Magician.  
  
He waved his hand again, and the image reformed once more, this time into a creature Mara had never seen or even heard of before. It seemed to be an amalgamation of several different creatures, mainly made up of a sleek, furry body and spindly, agile legs. Its tail was long and serpent-like, curling dangerously through the air and its head was made up a large snout and jaw, framed by a thick, tawny mane. It looked close to a Raddan lion, only there was a far more deadly glint in its small, black eyes. Mara almost shivered at the sight of the creature as it prowled in the air above them.  
  
“A Chimera,” Schmendrick said and there was a strange, harsh quality to his voice. “Something of a legend in the Outer Rim. It’s a composite of creatures, elements of other beings, other species. Because of that it could never be whole, never be a truly complete.” The creature opened its enormous mouth and a great spurt of fire erupted from it, igniting the room in red-gold flame. “This always frightened the adults as well as the children. I suppose because it is an affront to nature – to the Force,” he faltered on the last words. “I don’t even know why I kept it in the act,” he added quietly, almost to himself.  
  
“Do any actually exist?” she asked.  
  
“No.” Schmendrick waved his hand as the image disappeared.  
  
Mara shifted onto her elbow, her fingers moving to stroke his cheek, turning his gaze towards her. His eyes were blue – brighter now, more luminous than she had ever remembered seeing them. “You can do all of that,” she began, her voice soft. “Play tricks of the mind, make people see the impossible. Manipulate the Force for such…trivialities.” Schmendrick looked wounded and attempted to turn away. Mara’s grip tightened around his cheek and chin, forcing his gaze to remain fixed with hers.  
  
“Don’t mistake me,” she continued. “It’s impressive…such a subtle control of the Force”. She took a deep breath. “You have no trouble with Circus tricks and yet you cannot rise above it, to do what the Emperor asks and expects of you.”  
  
“I’ve…hit a wall,” he said after a long silence. His hand reached for hers, resting on his cheek, and she allowed their fingers to intertwine. “I hate him. I want to destroy him…but I can’t, and I don’t know why.” He closed his eyes, distressed, and Mara felt a wave of sadness pass over her. She had never seen him so vulnerable. A few weeks ago she would have been pleased at his sign of weakness, would have quickly found a way to exploit it. But the situation had changed so drastically…they needed each other if they were going to succeed, that much she was sure of. Although she did not know why, Schmendrick wanted revenge on Palpatine as much as she did.  
  
“Maybe you need more time. More experience,” she reasoned, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to his shoulder. “You have to accept the Force, allow it to work through you.” Mara knew that he was still frightened to give himself over to it, to allow himself to be a vessel. Perhaps she could help him with that, after all, that was the first lesson the Emperor had taught her, how to open herself up - to be a bearing of his will.  
  
Schmendrick did not answer, but tugged on her arm, urging her to move closer still. Mara complied, resting her head against his broad shoulder. His free hand ran through her hair and traced shiver-inducing fingers down her spine.  
  
“Or…” she managed to speak despite the contentment his touch brought her. “I could kill him for you.”  
  
“No,” he answered immediately, holding her tightly. “No…it’s something I need to do myself.”  
  
“Schmendrick…” she began crossly. She didn’t need to be protected –  
  
“Luke,” he cut her off, silencing any further thoughts or words she possessed. His body shifted next to her and she was once again confronted by the depth of his cerulean-blue eyes. Although now they were naked, stripped clean of any pretence or shadow. She could see directly into his soul, feel his Force sense begin to reach out to her, melding with her own.  “Luke,” he repeated, and Mara felt the last embers of her heart alight. “My name is Luke.”

Hearing his true name seemed so much more intimate than what they had shared the previous night, and Mara felt those embers turn into flame. He was giving her such a precious gift, something he had zealously kept guarded about himself. Until now. She didn’t care what he name was, only that he trusted her with it.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, overcome with happiness and desire. He responded and pulled her close, fingers drawing small circles on the skin of her back and making her shiver. She held onto his face tightly, plundering his mouth with hers and letting him know exactly what she wanted from him. The previous night, he had taken charge. Now it was her turn.  

She pulled back and gave him a flirtatious smile. “Luke,” she repeated, the name sounding right on her tongue, as if she had been made to say it. “Luke,” Mara said again as she ran her hand over his chest, mapping the ridges and contours of his chest, arms and firm, taut stomach muscles. She felt her desire mount and immediately she wanted his bare skin pressed against her. She _needed_ it.      

Roughly pulling his body back to hers, Mara’s lips attacking the soft crease between his neck and shoulder. She sucked hard, marking him as her own as he had done to her the previous night, and Luke let out a small cry of pleasure. Or pain, she wasn't sure. But at that point, she didn’t care. All that mattered were the feelings he was creating inside of her – the sweet bliss that filled her mind, driving any and all unpleasant thoughts and memories away.

Then Luke rested a hand on her breast and Mara arched into him, laying her fingers on top of his, urging him on. Mara sighed at the calloused, warm fingers that caressed her skin, his thumb moving torturously over her nipple. A small moan escaped her mouth in the form of his name again. But it was enough, as his thumb began to move more vigorously.

“Do you know how much I wanted to hear you call me that…” she heard Luke mutter the soft words, but didn’t play them much heed, she was too busy enjoying his handiwork and craving more.  

Mara pushed Luke onto his back and climbed astride him, leaning down over him, her lips hovering over his. “Luke,” she whispered huskily and kissed him again. “Oh…Luke,” she gasped as he caressed her breast again. But soon that wasn’t enough – she needed all of him.

Adjusting slightly, Mara straightened her back and straddled his hips before sinking down onto his waiting member, sending a sharp shock of pleasure through her. Mara arched her back, her hands resting on his strong thighs, a position that could give her the most leverage; that would give her the most control. He seemed to enjoy it, for he cried and gasped her name over and over, his hands clutching her hips, encouraging her movement as he thrust up into her. They found a fast, rhythmic pace, Mara glorying the now familiar feeling of him inside of her, reacting to the way his vocal cries filled the hot air, the way her sweat clung to her skin as their pace became frantic.        

Luke must have sensed her urgency, for his hands moved against her, to just above where their bodies were joined. He found the small, sensitive bud, the centre of her desire and began to rub vigorously.

Mara cried out and rode him harder, rocking her hips against his while grinding herself against his skilful fingers. Climax washed over her with a shattering force, and Mara was higher than she had ever been. She was among the stars, where there was nothingness – no earthly bonds to tie her down, nothing but her and Luke as he bucked against her, finding his own release.

She collapsed bonelessly on him, and his strong arms were there to catch her, to settle her beside him in the bed and wind around her tightly. His arms felt good around her, she felt safe, as if he would banish the demons from her soul and cleanse her sorrows.    

Mara laughed with gleeful satisfaction as she pressed herself into his embrace. “What is it?” he asked sleepily, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.

“It’s just your name,” she answered truthfully. “I like it.”

* * *

  
  
  
Han Solo threw his last empty ale bottle at the wall of the _Falcon_. There had been a time where he would not have dared harm the old girl in such a way, but she was the last thing he held dear and as such, wanted her to share in his suffering. Of course, the hull of his ship, docked in one of Coruscant’s seedier spaceports was not the best place for a drinking binge, but Han found he really didn’t care anymore. There was a shipment of spice in the _Falcon’s_ belly, his last chance from his last contact, but Han wasn’t too bothered with offloading that either.  
  
What would he use the money for? More alcohol, he supposed. It was the only thing he could rely on any more, although his credits were so low he could only afford the suspiciously cheap local ale. Still, it was better than nothing, better than –  
  
Han blinked. Movement in the doorway caught his eye, a shimmering of light that appeared to become a familiar figure. Surely it was the booze, he reasoned, playing tricks on his eyes. He didn’t believe in ghosts, and he certainly didn’t believe that he was seeing that crazy old wizard, wrinkled face disapproving as ever.  
  
“No, my boy,” the figure spoke, “You are not losing your mind.”  
  
Han was not easily startled, nor did he take too long to acquaint himself with unusual situations.

“Who’re you calling ‘boy’” he slurred. “Although,” he appraised the old man. “Compared to you…” he waved his hand capriciously and laughed. “Come to take me to the next life, eh?”  
  
Kenobi seemed to smile, illuminating the shadows of the room. “I’m afraid not. Although you are not far from it, I see,” he gazed around the room and Han saw just how many empty bottles were scattered and smashed on the floor. There were worse ways to go than alcohol poisoning, he supposed. He might even welcome it.  
  
“...not an easy feat to alter your perceptions, to allow you to see me,” Kenobi was still speaking. “Without the Force…”  
  
“Oh, the Force!” Han laughed bitterly. “What a wondrous situation the _Force_ has led us too.” He didn’t believe in fate, or the Force, but it was a good an excuse as any. It was easier to think that it had all been someone else’s fault.  
  
“It is unfortunate,” Kenobi sighed. “But we have no control over the will of the Force. We have only our own destinies. Our own…choices.”  
  
“You gonna to start making some sense soon?” Han derided the old ghost. “I am rather busy.”  
  
“So I see.” A slight smile formed on Kenobi’s lips, and Han got the feeling the old man felt he had gotten exactly what he’d deserved. “But I am not the only company you shall have tonight, Han,” Kenobi continued. “The Imperial’s are coming.”  
  
Sure enough, Han began to hear the clang of stormtrooper boots on metal flooring, growing louder as they seemed to surround the ship. “They are ready to search your vessel for illegal merchandise,” the shining spectre continued. “And I assure you, they have become much more thorough than when we first encountered them on the Death Star. They will not overlook your smuggling compartments.”  
  
Han didn’t doubt it, but felt his ire rise. “Your doing, old man?” he spat. So the old codger had come to have the last laugh. Typical.  
  
“I merely took advantage of the opportunity,” Kenobi answered calmly. “It seems your old friend Feliar was not as reliable as you believed.”  
  
Han clenched a fist. Feliar had sold him out, probably to save his own skin. Perfect. Just perfect. Now he had Imperials to deal with, and smuggling carried a death sentence in the Inner Rim. “So you’re here to gloat?”  
  
“No.” Kenobi cast a quick glance to the hatch of the Falcon, and Han knew he had sensed something he could not. Probably just how close the Imps were to breaching his precious ship. If they harmed her…  
  
“We haven’t much time, so I will say this quickly,” Kenobi continued. “I know you regret leaving Luke to face the Death Star alone. I know that the memory has plagued you, driven you to try and find solace in any place you could. I also know that nothing has been able to alleviate your pain and suffering, your overwhelming guilt. That is what has lead you down this path of destruction.”  
  
Han turned away, trying not to listen. Did the old fool have to remind him of that? Couldn’t he just be left to wallow and die in peace?  
  
“But you have a chance now, Han, to make amends.”  
  
“What did I tell you about making sense?” Han spat angrily. “Go away, I haven’t got any clue what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Luke,” said Kenobi, clearly exasperated. “He is here, and you can help him.”  
  
“No.” Han refused to believe it. “The kid died with the rest of the Rebellion. He’s gone.”  
  
“That is simply not true. And the Force will bring you together, I am sure of it.” Kenobi seemed so determined, so certain. Didn’t he know that Han wasn't to be trusted, that he couldn’t handle any kind of responsibility? He hadn’t had the guts to stick with it before, what made the crazy old coot think anything was different now?  
  
“Just what am I supposed to do?” he asked. “Waltz up to him and reminisce about the good times…oh, wait,” Han sneered. “There _were_ no good times.”  
  
“I warn you Han, not to approach this situation lightly, or it may cost you your life.” Kenobi turned grave. “You will find Luke much altered…he is not the boy you knew. If anything, he is more like yourself than you may realise. But you can help him discover that boy again, to remember what he was fighting for. I trust in it.” The ghostly image shimmered slightly, as Han heard the Imps blasting through the Falcon’s main entrance. He heard the stormtrooper’s low voices, desecrating the beautiful silence of his ship.  
  
“We both failed Luke,” Kenobi spoke in a voice full of regret as his image faded away. “But at least one of us has a chance to redeem himself.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

_“The master wizards were great listeners and they devised ways to charm all things of the world, living and dead, into talking to them. That is most of it, being a wizard – seeing and listening.” He drew a long breath, suddenly looking away and holding his hands together. “The rest is technique,” he said._   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Mara sized up her opponent, eyes narrowing in her appraisal. She focused on her inner strength, of the Force that flowed through her, distant and elusive, but still her devoted companion. Clean air filled her lungs deeply as she took a breath, pumping oxygen through her veins, feeding her muscles with stored energy. Anticipation flowed through her as she ignited her lightsaber, the green blade hardly brightening the well-lit space of Luke’s private practice room.   
  
He advanced towards her, igniting his own blade, blood-red light splaying across his face and highlighting the rise of his cheekbones. It was Lord Vader’s former saber, the handle slightly long in Luke’s hand, but he compensated for it with a practiced ease. She was using one of the spare saber’s Lord Vader had once given to her. From the colour of the gemstone and the wear in the handle she assumed it had once belonged to a Jedi. Luke’s was far superior to her own, but hers was serviceable and she swung the blade towards him, green meeting red with a resounding crack.   
  
Luke grinned and parried, forcing Mara to take a step backwards and block a succession of quick thrusts. She managed to halt the movement a split-second before it burned into the skin of her shoulder, and threw all of her weight behind the blade, forcing Luke back. Pure exhilaration flowed through her as they sparred, coupled with frustration as he chipped away at her defences and brief joy when she made him retreat.   
  
She didn’t know how long they fought, she was lost in the rhythm of attack and defence, to take and triumph, of struggle and block. Eventually though, with sweat infusing every inch of skin and clothing, not to mention the rapidity of her breathing and the ache in her lungs, Luke held his blade to her throat in victory. She conceded, and allowed him to help her up off the floor as he shut down his saber. She retrieved her own from where she had been forced to drop it to the floor.   
  
“You’re weak on your left side,” he said evenly as he clipped his lightsaber to his belt. “You’ll have to watch that.”   
  
Mara bristled at the criticism, partly because she could not offer any of her own. His technique had been perfect. He must have received some intense training from Lord Vader to have become such an excellent swordsman, she conceded. That and a great natural talent. That much she was sure of, as he had proved his profound dexterity and maneuverability to her in his bed.   
  
Her cheeks flushed at the treacherous thought and she turned away from Luke, embarrassed. Their relationship, if it could be called that, was still new and while it had advanced into the physical, she was still reluctant to speak or show her affection for him.   
  
“Mara?” Luke’s hand touched her bare arm and sent involuntary shivers down her spine. She smiled in return, willing away the redness of her cheeks. If he noticed anything, Luke didn’t bother to vocalise it. Instead he took Mara’s lightsaber handle and examined it carefully, running his calloused fingertips over the slight flaws in the workmanship. “Your weapon is lacking, I admit,” he said softly.   
  
“Lord Vader seemed to think that my skills did not warrant a superior one,” she answered, her mouth twisting bitterly. She had lost her own purple saber along with her position as Emperor’s Hand. Lord Vader, strangely enough, had developed a sort of sympathy for her and had given her the blade from his own extensive collection. Had he seen or perceived that she may have someday needed it again, and thus could not afford to lose her familiarity with it? In either case, she’d only had practice droids to train with until Luke.   
  
“Hmmm,” he finished his careful examination of her saber, but did not return it. Instead, Luke strode purposefully over to the ornate cabinet that braced the far wall, built from Reknew wood from Naboo. It had an extremely old-fashioned key lock rather than an electronic pinpad and like everything in the room, had once belonged to Vader. Luke hesitated for a moment as he turned the key in the lock, but shook his head swiftly, as if to divest himself of the indecision. He opened the cabinet and retrieved an object wrapped in thick black velvet. When he turned back to her, Luke’s expression was deep, a look Mara had come to recognise as complete and utter seriousness. Carefully and with precision, Luke unwrapped the package and Mara saw a flash of silver emerge from the weighty material.   
  
It was a lightsaber.   
  
Luke placed the velvet and her green saber back into the cabinet and relocked it. He lovingly traced the handle before reaching it out towards Mara. She took it, shocked by the gesture, but she was aware that he would simply not understand if she refused such a gift. Mara examined the instrument carefully, studying the sleek handle. She had never seen its equal in terms of craftsmanship, save for the saber than hung at Luke’s waist. The work was truly exquisite, the grip firm, the welding clean and perfect.   
  
“It was my father’s,” Luke said quietly.   
  
Mara stepped back and illuminated the blade, the ghostly blue illuminating the room. She remembered now. It was the same lightsaber she had retrieved from his person when he had first been brought into the prisons. It was the weapon she had delivered to Lord Vader.

“Your father was a Jedi?” she asked. It was the first she’d heard him speak of family. Was this mysterious father the reason the Emperor had sought Luke out? Had Vader known him, was that why he had taken Luke under his tutelage, why he had kept the saber?   
  
Luke looked at her, unsettled. “He’s dead now,” he replied in a tone that didn’t warrant further questioning. She thumbed off the blue blade and there was a long silence as Luke simply gazed at her. Mara had initially found it unsettling, but she had since grown accustomed to his stares, his tests of her tolerance for silence. It was so hard to tell what he was thinking, but Mara knew she would never discover more about him by asking questions.   
  
“I have to meet the Emperor,” he said eventually, a note of displeasure in his voice. “But you can practice in here,” he continued, glancing down at the lightsaber still in Mara’s hand. “It suits you,” he added softly.   
  
“Thank you, Luke,” she replied. His true name felt like music on her tongue, a glorious secret that he had shared with her, had trusted her with. Mara reached out and touched his hand lightly, noticing the slight trembling which slowed at her touch. He leaned forward and his lips brushed hers for the briefest of instants, before he pulled himself away and strode from the room.   
  
Now alone, Mara geared up one of the training remotes to use. She thumbed on her new saber, adjusting her grip to find an equilibrium and closed her eyes as the remote hovered around her. She reached inside of herself, locating that elusive Force presence that she knew flowed through her veins and within her blood. She focused on herself, rather than the remote, sharpening every sense and heightening her reflexes until they became almost anticipatory.   
  
But something was wrong.   
  
With a start, Mara deactivated the remote and shut off her saber before returning her attention inwards. After several minutes she located the source of the imbalance, a strange weight in her abdomen, as far as she could tell. Mara studied the area; her Force sense was too limited to carry out a detailed analysis of her body, but it was enough to give her a broad idea of the cause of the problem. Her body had changed internally, that much she could discern. Her cells had multiplied and altered in her womb, as if to…accommodate new life. Yes, she felt it – a strange sense in the Force she was certain was not her own, but a small, separate identity.   
  
There could only be one explanation, Mara thought with a mixture of surprise, exhilaration but most of all, complete and utter terror.   
  
She was pregnant.   
  


* * *

  
  
Luke followed the Imperial officer down through the bowels of the prison, trying to shrug off the feeling of familiarity the walls imbibed him with. He didn’t know why the Emperor had been so keen to send him to deal with a mere prisoner; certainly he had others far more capable and suited to such a chore. But he had bowed and said; “Yes, my Master,” like a dutiful apprentice, and had followed the young, eager Captain and stormtroopers towards the correct cell.   
  
“I apologise for the smell, sir,” The Captain called over his shoulder. “I’m afraid it’s much worse in the chamber. A week and we still haven’t been able to get rid of the stench off him.”   
  
“I’m no stranger to such situations,” Luke replied coldly. The officer was nice enough, but he was determined to keep a tight reign around all of the Emperor’s underlings, to not reveal any possible weakness.   
  
“Of course, sir.” He seemed unperturbed; perhaps even a little excited to be escorting the Emperor’s right-hand man. He was probably looking for an opportunity to add some colours to his chest. “But just a warning, this prisoner’s a dangerous one. A smuggler, as I’m sure you’ve been informed, but he has enough of a record to keep the clerics busy for weeks. He keeps ranting about his ship, wanting to know how we’ve been treating her.” He stopped in front of a small cell, indicating for the stormtroopers to unlock the heavy door. “He’s not right in the head, I tell you sir,” the young officer tapped his temple for emphasis.   
  
Luke nodded, eager to simply dole out a sentence and then be done with it. But on entering the cell he realised why the Emperor had sent him down personally. Luke didn’t know how he knew, or how he expected him to react, but sitting in the corner of the dank cell was Han Solo. He was much older and had lost that bright, careless air about him, but there was no mistaking the dark-haired smuggler who had taken him off Tatooine.   
  
The officer halted beside Luke and barked sharply at Han to show the proper attention to his superiors. The Corellian languidly raised his head, his stalwart face cracking into a grin as a hearty bellow escaped him.

“Well I’ll be,” he said in between chuckles. “He was right. Have to say, kid, I never pictured you as the Imperial type.”   
  
“Do you know this man, sir?” The officer questioned him.   
  
Luke exhaled harshly. “We’ve crossed paths.”   
  
“ _Sir_?” Han snorted. “That’s a kicker… _sir_ ,” he laughed to himself.   
  
“Hold your tongue, Solo,” the officer snapped. “Your fate is dependent on Lord Schmendrick’s good will.”   
  
Han laughed at hearing Luke's alias, but otherwise ignored the officer. “You look different, kid,” his gaze slipped over Luke appraisingly.   
  
“Better?” Luke quirked a sardonic eyebrow.   
  
Han snorted again. “Wouldn’t go that far. But you’re sure as hell not a farmboy anymore.”   
  
Luke almost smiled. “I think that’s better.”   
  
“It’s the hair, I think,” Han continued, words slipping almost-drunkenly out of his mouth, although Luke knew he had to be sober. From his appearance and the stench that clung to him, he surmised Han must have been speaking that way out of habit. “Yes, it’s much darker,” he went on. “Guess you don’t get out in the sun much anymore?” He paused before breaking into another huge grin. “You’re still as short as ever. Guess not even having the ear of the Emperor can change that.”   
  
The Imperial drew a slight but deadly blaster, stepping forward to press it to Han’s temple. “I warned you, scum,” he sneered, the barrel pressing into the skin, although Han didn’t appear to be bothered by it. Instead he stared directly at Luke, all laughter gone from his face.   
  
“I thought you were dead,” Han said quietly, his tone changing entirely as he looked Luke directly in the eyes. “If I’d known you’d survived the attack…”   
  
“You would have done nothing,” Luke cut him off. “Because that’s what you’re good at.” Han didn’t reply, and Luke sighed, raising a hand to indicate to the officer to step back. He did immediately and obediently. Luke made a mental note to watch his movements, since he seemed most eager to prove his worth.   
  
But for now, Luke wanted to deal with Han on his own terms, rather than use minions to keep him in line. Han would never respect him that way and despite himself, there was part of him that still saw the smuggler as an icon, someone he wanted to watch his back, and to protect in turn.   
  
But first Luke needed him to suffer, to extract on him vengeance for leaving him alone against the Death Star. Han had chosen credits and his own assured survival over the friendship Luke was certain they could have shared. For that, he wanted Han to endure pain – not physically, of course - Luke still found that kind of prisoner torture abhorrent. But rather he wanted to inflict on the Corellian a mental anxiety, as he himself had suffered at Han’s actions.   
  
“What are you going to do with me?” Han asked, sighing deeply. “Kill me? Good, fine. Just hurry up and get it over with.”   
  
“I’m not feeling that merciful today,” Luke replied smoothly, before turning to the officer beside him. “The ship you were speaking of?” he asked.   
  
“Yes, sir,” he replied immediately. “A Corellian stock freighter, good only for the scrap heap, in my opinion.”   
  
Han didn’t say a word, but Luke did not miss the clenching of his fists. He smiled at his former companion’s obvious discomfiture. “I want you to take it apart, piece by piece,” Luke instructed. “And I want the remains crushed.”   
  
“No!” Han leapt forward and grabbed his arm. “Come’on, kid, this isn’t you,” he said desperately.   
  
Luke threw him off easily and Han crumpled to the floor. “Perhaps now you will know what it’s like to lose everything, Han,” he responded lowly. “To have your life crumble around you, and be powerless to stop it.” He was being cruel, he knew, but the anger came easily, unfettered by anxiety or a questioning of motives. No, he was justified, he was righteous. Han would suffer and then maybe – maybe – he would allow him back into his fold. The Corellian could play an important part in his plans, and he intended not to squander any asset. But first, a devious, satisfying thought struck Luke with a strange kind of delight.   
  
“Captain.”   
  
“Yes sir?” The officer stood to attention.   
  
“Your name?” Luke asked.   
  
“Tylers, sir,” he replied, looking pleased.   
  
“Very well, Tylers,” Luke filed the name away for future reference. “When you carry out my orders regarding the ship,” he continued and gestured towards Han, still slumped on the dirty floor. “I want him to watch,” he finished, grinning.   
  
Luke strode out of the cell, the pleasant, fulfilling sound of Han’s piteous moan resonating in his darkening mind.


	14. Chapter 14

_Life in the castle went on in the silence that fills a place where no one hopes for anything…Schmendrick fooled and juggled and flimflammed as the king bade him, hating it and knowing that Haggard knew he hated it and took his pleasure thereby…He seemed to have surrendered not to the king but to some far older, crueller enemy that had caught up with him at last, this winter, in this place._

 

* * *

  
  
  
Mara entered the dim suite apprehensively, signalling for the guard to leave. She knew she was wandering into dangerous territory and most likely acting against Luke’s will, but she had to know why this particular prisoner had caused such a change in him. In the past week he had been dark and moody, preoccupied with the prisoner’s suffering. She had not told him about her condition, neither had she visited the palace medic nor even consulted a medroid, for they were too easily tampered with. Mara was more certain than ever with her own diagnosis, and she could not risk anyone finding out.   
  
She would begin to show eventually, but hopefully Luke’s plans for the Emperor would be carried out by that time and she would not need to fear reprisal or sabotage. Her body had already started to change minutely to accommodate a new life and Mara was fearful of Luke noticing either through the Force or eventually through their close contact. She had broken off all intimate relations with him for that reason and shunned his shy advances every night. Perhaps that had added to his dark moods, although he said nothing, nor did he try and press her for physical contact.   
  
Mara was scared, but she had to think of her child, first. The knowledge of her pregnancy had elicited a fierce protective streak within her, burning away all former uncertainties. It was if she had been reborn, and she was now more determined than ever to overthrow her former Master for the sake of the life inside of her. Revenge or retribution for her treatment at his hands no longer mattered. Her dissatisfaction and anger had melted away; reformed into something she had never believed herself capable of. Love. A willingness to do whatever it took to safeguard the life growing inside of her, even if it meant keeping his or her existence secret from Luke.   
  
Because she still wasn’t entirely sure that she could trust him not to become the Emperor, to abandon her like he had, leaving her weak once again. When it had been her own life, it had seemed an easy gamble, but she was playing with greater odds now, and she wanted to truly know the man behind the magician. Which was why she had come to these particular quarters.   
  
Mara kept her face impassive as she encountered a dark-haired man slumped on the couch, an arm flung over his eyes to keep out the dim light. The room was sparse, but well-furnished, the kind of quarters that were occupied by lower-ranked Imperial officers. It was far from a prison, despite the guards outside the door.   
  
“Han Solo?” Mara addressed him as a chill went through her at his slumped, defeated posture. “I need to ask you something.”   
  
Solo gave a bitter laugh and raised his head, smoky eyes not quite focussing on her. “I got nothing to say” he rasped quietly.   
  
Mara moved closer, unperturbed by the despair that clung to him possessively. “Solo,” she repeated, deciding that directness was the best approach. “I want you to tell me about Luke.”   
  
“Don’t you mean Lord Schmitzy-pants?” he snorted to himself, seemingly unable to shake the manner and air of a drunkard.   
  
“I know you knew him…before,” Mara continued, ignoring the insult. “And I want you to tell me about him.”   
  
Something glinted in Solo’s eyes, a clarity, perhaps. Although she could tell he had no Force sensitivity, his gaze seemed to penetrate her.   
  
“Oh, I see.” The beginnings of an expression cracked his blank face. “But why do you think I would want to help you? You can’t hold anything over me - I have nothing left to lose.”   
  
“And everything to gain,” Mara countered, undeterred by his hopelessness. Hadn’t she been in the very same position, before Luke entered her world? Hadn’t she lost any sense of self-worth or respect, only to raised upward by his faith and attention? She was sure that it could be the same for the smuggler and the new sensation of pity overwhelmed her. She honestly wanted this man’s life to improve, and not just because it suited her own ends.

“Luke wanted you to suffer – he wouldn’t have done that unless you meant something to him,” she pressed on heartily. “Unless you’d done something to hurt him.” Luke was not a hateful person by nature, that she had become sure of. He wished darkness on others only out of a sense of justice and retribution. “I need to know what it was,” she finished. What had broken him so completely had sent him into hiding so many years ago? She was sure Solo knew what it was.   
  
“I wouldn’t want to tarnish his image in your delicate Imperial eyes,” Han sneered; at last a sense of life breaking through.   
  
“What do you mean by that?” Mara asked.   
  
Solo seemed rather smug, his back and posture even straightening slightly as he prepared to deliver his news. “I mean that your new Lord and Master was a Rebel.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“You remember the final offensive of the Rebellion against the Empire?” he looked at her, his expression shifting and at last character appeared in the lines and ridges of his stalwart face.   
  
“Yavin, of course,” Mara answered cautiously, unsure what Solo was playing at.   
  
“Well Luke was one of the pilots who flew in the attack against the Death Star.” Solo leaned back against the couch, a smugness settling easily about him.   
  
Mara was stunned. “That’s impossible,” she shook her head. “All of the Rebels were killed.”   
  
“So thought we all,” Solo shook his head and sighed deeply. “But if there’s one thing I can say about the kid, it’s that he’s a survivor.”   
  
_Could it be true?_ Mara asked herself. It could explain Luke’s reluctance to speak about his past, and certainly gave a credible reason as to why he had assumed a new identity. But he had never expressed any Rebel sympathies, or distaste for the government. He had trained under Lord Vader and certainly there was no greater advocate for the Empire other than the Emperor himself. He had mourned Vader’s passing, had sworn vengeance against Palpatine in Vader’s very _name_.   
  
Mara felt as if she was staring at a huge holo-painting from too close a vantage point. She saw the little details, but was unable to guess at the rest of the image. She needed more information.   
  
Mara moved to sit beside the broken man before her, sure that he held the answers that she craved. “Tell me everything,” she demanded.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Luke quickly switched off the comm unit as he heard Mara enter his quarters from the adjourning doors that lead to her own bed chamber. He had once again been taking solace in his father’s holographic recordings, even though he had completely exhausted the memory of the disc. He was seeking strength, perhaps, to launch his attack on the Emperor and fulfill his destiny. Something was holding him back, preventing him from reaching his full potential in the Force still, and Luke still wasn’t certain of the cause.   
  
He only knew that at this moment he needed comfort, reassurance of a different kind that he could receive from only one person.   
  
“Progress?” Mara crept soundlessly up behind him as Luke turned to face her, drinking in her presence. She had certainly brightened from the dull-eyed, defeated woman he had meant so many months before. There was a glow to her, he realised, or perhaps it was just his new and more intimate view of her.   
  
“Perhaps,” he replied, deflecting the question. Luke had all the knowledge he needed to make his move, he was just waiting for the right time. But Mara could call him on it and accuse him of stalling, so Luke decided to keep silent on the issue. “And you?” he stood and advanced on her, feeling his tension ease slightly in her presence.   
  
“I saw the smuggler you brought in,” she admitted cautiously, as if unsure as to how he would react. “Pitiful excuse for a man.”   
  
Luke hadn’t quiet decided what he planned to do with Han, now that he had the smuggler right where he wanted him. The victory seemed hollow, almost. But Luke was disturbed that Mara had known to seek him out, that she had sensed they shared a connection. Or perhaps he was impressed and heartened by her actions, it was difficult to tell. “You shouldn’t bother with him,” he replied eventually.   
  
“Still,” she said, her gaze locking on his own. “Desperation makes strange bedfellows,” her mouth quirked slightly. “He could prove useful.”   
  
“I suppose,” Luke conceded, preoccupied by other matters as his arms slipped around her waist. “Any other suggestions?” It was only when he was alone with her that he smiled, and Luke gave her that gift freely.   
  
“I’m fresh out,” Mara smiled in return, but it was uncertain and wavered slightly as she extracted herself from his embrace. “But I’m sure I’ll have plenty ready for our training session tomorrow,” she finished and moved to turn away, back towards her own rooms.   
  
_Not again_ , Luke thought as he grasped her arm, pulling her close against the length of his body. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, unable to keep the plea out of his voice. She had come up with varied excuses over the past week, not allowing him to get too close to her, or touch her freely. In truth it was beginning to frustrate him.   
  
“I…” Mara’s gaze lingered on his lips and Luke leaned in to capture her in a kiss, but she pulled out of his reach. “I have some more work to do, Luke, I’m sorry.” She stepped away, eyes downcast.   
  
Luke nodded and tried to ignore the stab of rejection and hurt in his gut. But he accepted her excuses without question, as he always did, and watched her retreat to the sanctity of her own chambers. Now alone in the dim light of his quarters, Luke sank into a nearby armchair, bone-weary and confused.   
  
“Now isn’t that interesting,” a high voice sounded from across the room and Luke’s eyes shot open. The Emperor’s Hand was standing in the shadows of the main doorway, and Luke wondered how she had shielded herself from him. He was certain she had not been there when he had been listening to his father; she must have crept in while he was distracted by Mara.   
  
Luke feigned indifference and sank back down into the armchair, quelling the rising panic that churned within him. He kept a steady eye on Selano, not about to let her slip into the shadows again.   
  
“I’m surprised you accepted such a pathetic excuse,” she continued, her bitter blue eyes glinting in the dim light. “Or didn’t just take what you wanted from her. That’s what a Sith would have done.” She tossed her flaxen gold hair and stepped into the light, immediately drawing Luke’s attention to her attire. Her clothing was revealing in all of the right places, rich leather held together with gleaming silver chains. There was little doubt as to her intentions, but it was clear that she was no demure offering. Luke felt a wave of unease sweep through him as he tried to tear his gaze away from her curves.   
  
“What are you doing here?” he asked, irritated that he had to deal with her. Luke had dismissed the Hand as a simple obstacle he would overcome in his quest for the Emperor, but he was certain she was attempting at least, to become more invested in the situation.   
  
“I’m surprised at her arrogance,” Selano continued, moving in even steps towards him. Luke tried to tune her out but her appearance and demeanour was admittedly hard to ignore. And there was also the question of just what she had heard and gleaned from his and Mara’s conversation.   
  
“She has submitted herself to you and your will,” Selano’s voice was light and mellow, attempting, he knew, to draw him in. “She knows that her position and perhaps her very life is in your hands, and yet she denies you.” She reached where he was sitting, her cold fingers reaching to gentle caress his jawline. “I assure you, I would never make such a mistake.”   
  
“Why the change of heart?” Luke countered, not fooled by her sudden interest in him. “You’ve always made it very clear how much my presence disgusted you.”   
  
Selano cocked her head and simpered apologetically. “I admit at first I did not see the allure,” she said sweetly. “But now I see the attraction…why everyone seems drawn to you.” Her fingers traced his lips and moved down his chin, towards his throat. “You are the Emperor’s apprentice…you could be _Emperor_ ,” she added, grinning. “Jade just isn’t good enough for you.”   
  
“Is this treason from the Emperor’s Hand?” he challenged her.   
  
“Palpatine may be blind to your intentions, but I am not,” she said, her voice silky. “My loyalty is to the Emperor, whoever that may be. And believe me, I can be a far more worthy accomplice and asset than that,” her lips twisted distastefully,”…worn out _paramour_.”   
  
Before Luke could stop her, Selano climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs and winding her bare arms around his neck. A shiver ran through Luke and his first instinct was to throw her unceremoniously to the floor but something stalled him. For years he had shunned the touch of women, until Mara had given her affection so freely to him. But now she had denied him that pleasure, had severed such physical contact and Luke had to admit he missed the sensation of a woman’s light touch. To not be alone as he lay in bed in the sleepless hours of the night.   
  
“I’ve been watching you,” she purred. “And I’m impressed. You have such power, a potential to be even greater than Palpatine.” Her hands slipped under the collar of his tunic and unclasped the first few buttons. “I know how he thinks; I could help you with your plans. Things Jade could never know or comprehend. If we work together…” She leaned in closer, until he could feel her cool breath on his neck and face. “If you trust me…” Selano kissed him forcefully and for a moment Luke didn’t respond fully, but his hands came to rest lightly on her leather-clad hips.   
  
Why shouldn’t he partake in what the young woman was freely offering him? Since Mara had made it clear she no longer wished to have a physical relationship with him he had the right to seek what he needed elsewhere. Selano was no innocent – he could use her and when she was no longer valuable, he would discard her accordingly. It was exactly what the Emperor had intimated and encouraged - to use others as he chose and take just what he wanted from them.   
  
But it was that thought that halted him, as Luke remembered _who_ exactly was on his lap, plundering his mouth and running her long claw-like fingers over his neck and shoulders. His father had warned him against such actions, to not let the Emperor influence his decisions, especially when it came to woman. Yet Luke had almost fallen so easily into that trap. His father had only ever been with his mother – he had told Luke as much and yet he had considered ignoring those sentiments for a brief pleasure with a woman he knew would betray him the moment she was given the chance.   
  
He wanted Mara, Luke realised, not a cheap replacement for her, as he threw Selano away from him forcefully. He stood and turned, not wanting to face the raging and seething woman on the floor.   
  
“You’re choosing _her_?” Selano shrieked, all softness and affectation gone, replaced by a hateful dark swirl in the Force. Luke turned back and once again her true, ugly nature, the bitter, hard-edged face which was contorted in fury and disbelief. She probably couldn’t believe why Luke would prefer a broken, damaged woman like Mara to her own youthful and lustful promises. And that, Luke thought, was why she had failed in her seduction. All she had achieved was for Luke to fully realise how much he wanted Mara by his side, not just as a collaborator or lover, but as a companion, as something more tangible and honest.   
  
Luke stared the woman down as Selano scrambled to her feet, her narrow eyes shifting, looking for a weapon. Luke had his ignited lightsaber to her bare throat before she even had the chance to notice he was armed, the vivid red alighting the malice in her eyes.   
  
The woman looked at the blade, then directly at him murderously. “You’ll regret this,” she managed to hiss before being forced to retreat and strode quickly out of the room.   
  
But Luke was too tired to be wary of whatever threat Selano now posed to both he and Mara. He disengaged his lightsaber and breathed a sigh of relief even as a sharp note of sadness hit him. He knew what he wanted from Mara, but she had inexplicably pulled away from him, shunned his advances. He wanted to burst through the door which led to her rooms and retell the entire story of what just had occurred, to unburden his heavy heart.   
  
But instead Luke undressed and went to bed alone.   



	15. Chapter 15

_“You are quick for what you are,” he said, “but slow, I think, for what you were. It is said that love makes men swift and women slow. I will catch you at last if you love much more.”_

* * *

  
  
  
Mara knocked three times precisely on Luke’s door, no more, and no less. She usually went to his quarters at 1800 hours, at first as a pretense for their alleged relationship and then once it became real, a time to spend together. But for the past few weeks, it had become a show again, as Mara continued to keep Luke at a distance, unsure of where her heart truly lay.  
  
There was no answer after a minute, but Mara refused to knock again. She was early by at least a half an hour, and before she had always been exactly on time for their meetings. Perhaps he was otherwise occupied, but Mara refused to stand outside his door like a docile servant. She concentrated on the lock of the door with the Force. Something so small and fiddly would have once given her great trouble, but she had felt her power increase since her pregnancy had begun, and she had more confidence in her abilities. The lock clicked and Mara swung the door open silently with the Force.  
  
She would wait for him inside, Mara decided.  
  
Luke’s quarters were much darker than the illuminated hallways, and Mara’s eyes were immediately drawn to what appeared to be the only source of light in the room, a glowing hologram above the comm station. Mara blinked. Surely that was not Lord Vader’s image? She looked again, and there was no mistaking the Sith Lord’s flowing black cape and angular, imposing helmet. Mara approached the comm station apprehensively, still a little afraid of the man who had once shown her scorn and ridicule, and then kindness and a strange sense of amnesty after her fall from grace.  
  
It did not seem so hard to believe that Lord Vader had left some kind of message for Luke – in fact, she should have expected it. She should have known that was on the disc she had kept safe for him. Her instincts had slipped more than she had realised.  
  
Without hesitation, Mara pressed the reactivation button and the frozen image came to life again.  
  
“The Emperor’s throneroom is accessible from many sides, most of which you should be able to glean from various personal and the former Hand,” Vader’s image spoke in low tones. “But there is a passageway that runs from my quarters and allows you to enter in just behind the Emperor’s throne. Be wary, my son, for Palpatine knows -”  
  
 _Son?_ Mara couldn’t believe what she had just heard. It was not possible, but Vader had addressed Luke so lovingly, in a tone she had never heard from the Sith Lord. And she was certain that the disc was meant for Luke…but how could Luke be Vader’s son?  
  
“What are you doing? Luke’s sharp voice made Mara freeze. She didn’t move as he swept over to the comm station and violently switched off the holo. Vader’s image disappeared into the darkness of the room.  
  
The lights illuminated themselves with a flick of Luke’s wrist, his eyes burning dangerously and Mara felt a cold shiver pass through her.  
  
“Well?” he continued hotly. “What were you doing?”  
  
Mara’s fear faded into irritation. “Maybe I should ask why you needed to keep this from me.”  
  
“I don’t need to share _anything_ with you,” he snapped.  
  
“It’s true then?” she pressed. “Vader was your father?” Mara still couldn’t quite believe it.  
  
Luke eyed her directly. “Yes.”  
  
“How?” she demanded. “Solo told me your name was Skywalker-” As soon as the words left her mouth Mara knew she had made another mistake. Luke gaze hardened and his jaw locked, as if trying to keep his anger in check.  
  
“You talked to him?” Luke asked lowly. “What did he say?”  
  
“That you were a rebel,” she answered. “That you wanted to become a Jedi.” That piece of information she had found hard to believe, and had scoured the Imperial databanks for the name Skywalker. She had only found an accepted but unfulfilled petition for the Imperial Academy under Luke’s name, and no mention of any other Skywalker. Nothing that would indicate his parentage. She had hacked into the Hutt History System for Tatooine, and had found an old pod-race championship place for the name of Anakin, as well as a marriage certificate for a Shmi Skywalker. Neither of them seemed to have a clear connection to Luke. “So?” she questioned him, after a silence.  
  
“I don’t deny it,” Luke said very softly.  
  
“What happened?” Mara’s irritation had been replaced by a remembered affection, a desire to not see him so troubled.  
  
“I was lied to,” he said stiffly. “A Jedi told me that Vader had killed my father. He wanted to use me as a weapon against him and the Emperor. I only discovered the truth when I was brought here.”  
  
“And then Vader died,” Mara nodded, understanding. She stepped closer to Luke and took his hand in hers. The physical contact after so long of pushing him away was electric. His shining blue eyes rose to meet hers and all of Mara’s internal barriers began to break. It didn’t matter to her anymore that he had kept things hidden; just like it no longer mattered to him that she had been too eager to discover those secrets. Finally, she understood why Luke was bitter and angry, why he had issues with trust, why he had broken down in her arms after Vader’s death. She understood _him_.  
  
Luke pulled Mara towards him, pressing his lips to hers in a crushing embrace. She responded eagerly, shamelessly drinking him in after so long in drought. Her internal barriers shattered completely, as she felt his mind probe hers, filling the darkened crevasses and empty holes of her spirit.  
  
The kiss ended and Mara pulled him closer into an embrace, his head buried in her neck. He sighed harshly and continued to explore her reverently, and she in turn ventured into his mind, easing the torment and pain she found there with cooling, imaginary fingers.  
  
But too late, Mara realised she had allowed Luke too far as his hand clamped down hard on her arm, pulling her away from him. He stared her down with cold, angry eyes. “It looks like I’m not the only one who’s been keeping secrets,” he said darkly.  
  
Frightened, Mara’s other hand slid down her to her belly in a protective gesture. She had only seen Luke so angry when he had been raging and plotting against Palpatine. It was chilling to have that raw fury directed at her. She tried to back away but Luke held her fast.  
  
“I was going to tell you,” she said feebly, attempting to send a reassuring wave to him through the Force, but the way was once again blocked. And now she knew just how much potential and power was within him – what he could use against her and her child.  
  
“What I kept from you was personal,” he replied, his voice crackling. “You had no right.”  
  
“What did you expect?” Mara shot back, his anger igniting her own. “I don’t really know you, Luke. I couldn’t be sure that you would try to exploit this child in some way, like...” she trailed off, unwilling to voice her deepest fear.  
  
“Like him?” Luke advanced on her, eyes blazing. “I told you I was nothing like him.”  
  
“How do I know that’s the truth?” Mara replied, backing away. “You’re becoming more like him every day; don’t think I haven’t seen it.”  
  
“That’s not true,” he replied, and for a moment, doubt filled his voice.  
  
“You know it is,” she continued. “This anger, Luke, that’s inside you. It feels exactly the way that his does.”  
  
Luke was still not placated. “So that why you’ve been snooping around here, going behind my back to talk to Solo? You were testing me?” He clenched a fist, and Mara couldn’t help but clamp a hand over her throat, though no pain came. “Or perhaps,” Luke continued, his voice low and deep, “You’ve returned to your former service.”  
  
“You know that’s not true,” Mara replied, shocked.  
  
“Do I?” Luke cocked his head slightly and gave her a tight, humourless smile. “As you so wonderfully pointed out, Mara, we don’t really know each other at all.”  
  
“Luke…” Mara tried to take his hand again.  
  
“I think you should leave,” he said softly, all anger or reproach suddenly gone from his voice, replaced by an infinite sadness. “Now that I know where I stand.”  
  
Mara could have said a million things, about her growing feelings for him, her concern for their child, her desperation, her need to trust him. But there was nothing she could do to comfort or reassure him at that moment.  
  
With the weight of regret, Mara dropped his hand and left the room silently.

* * *

  
  
“Something troubling you, my Hand?” The Emperor leaned back against his throne, studying his young servant carefully. She had become far more spiteful in the past week, and less sure of herself. While he encouraged the former, the latter was not a quality he accepted in his Hands.  
  
“No, my master,” she answered dully.  
  
“Something to do with my young apprentice?” Palpatine probed. He already knew the answer, extracting it swiftly from her mind, but he enjoyed his servants openly confessing their problems to him. He was, after all, like a father to most of them. A stern disciplinarian, perhaps, but someone who wanted to see them succeed in the parameters he lay out for them.  
  
“I believe he is plotting against you, Master,” Selano replied, looking up from her kneeling position on the floor. “Him and that _Jade_.”  
  
“Yes, I know,” The Emperor smiled to himself. He had sensed dissent within both of them, but neither was strong enough to bring him down. Skywalker would try admirably, of course, but with the limited knowledge Palpatine had given him, he would fail as surely as Vader had. And, like his old friend, he would be weakened, reduced into a position where he _had_ to serve.  
  
Dependency. Palpatine could think of no more beautiful thing that that. “And you will be able to stop them,” he told his Hand. “Jade will certainly be no trouble, not in her condition.”  
  
“Then she is...” Selano paled suddenly.  
  
“Indeed.” Palpatine enjoyed seeing his Hand digest the information. Oh, he knew all about her attempted seduction of Skywalker. It seemed the boy was as loyal to Jade as his father had been to Padme. That was familiar territory, and would play to his advantage. And Skywalker had yet to discover his true parentage, which was another important weapon in Palpatine’s impressive arsenal.  
  
“Be ready, my Hand,” he advised her, signalling her dismissal. “It will soon be time.”  
  
As for Palpatine, he was always ready.

* * *

  
  
  
It was close to the middle of the night when Luke crept silently into Mara’s adjourning quarters. His anger had long faded, but there had been that underlying hurt and inhibiting, absolute fear. He had been raised as an orphan and had only known his true father for a few months. How was he to fill the role of parent, especially in such a hostile environment? That and his growing attachment to Mara…it was all dangerous. But he had made his choice, had made it when he had first pulled Mara into his arms. A part of him knew that it had always been leading to this.  
  
“Mara?” Luke called softly into the darkened room. He should still be angry with her, for sneaking around behind his back, for keeping her pregnancy from him, but he couldn’t now. He had been inside her head, and she inside his. He knew her, understood her motives. That was what he had come to realise in the past few hours.  
  
“Mara?” he called again, searching for her presence. He heard a small gasp across the room and honed in on it, mentally flicked on dimmed lights. Mara was curled up in an armchair, eyes red-rimmed and face deathly pale. Luke was immediately at her side, pulling her into his arms, regretting that he had ever caused her pain.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to hide her face, but Luke pulled back a little, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head towards him.  
  
“I’m sorry, too,” he replied, and no more words were needed as he kissed her gently, soaking in her presence, re-opening the barriers between them. She sighed and responded eagerly, and finally Luke felt their connection unfettered by doubt or past deeds, but mesmerising and beautiful in its simplicity. They were both scared, of Palpatine, of their plans, of the child that Mara carried within her. But they trusted each other, finally, and that was enough.  
  
Luke broke the kiss and pulled back to stare into Mara’s eyes, which shimmered a bright emerald green. He ran his fingers though her hair lovingly. “I have to finish this,” he said quietly. “It’s time.”  
  
“No,” she replied, arms slipping around his neck. “ _We_ have to finish this.” She smiled and drew him in for another kiss.  
  
Luke knew he should protest; argue that her condition didn’t lend itself for insurrection, especially when there was so much danger of them failing. But somehow he knew that she wouldn’t be swayed, and there would be nothing save tying her to the bed that would stop her assisting in their plans for the Emperor. He held her tightly, unwilling to let go, but secure in the knowledge that it was finally time for his revenge.  
  
And not only that – Mara and his child’s wellbeing was far more important to him now.  He drew back and rested his palm gently against her still-flat stomach, reaching out to the tiny presence within. 

Luke had to succeed, now, for them. He would protect what he held in his arms, his family, no matter the cost.


	16. Chapter 16

_Molly felt herself growing light-headed, silly with the nearness of the Bull. The light and the smell had become a sticky sea in which she floundered like the unicorns, hopeless and eternal. The path was beginning to tilt downward, into the deepening light; and far ahead Prince Lir and the Lady Amalthea went marching along to disaster as calmly as the candles burned down._   
  


* * *

  
  
  
With a flick of his wrist, Luke disabled the holoprojection of the prison levels, simultaneously bringing the lights in his quarters back to full brightness. “Do you understand?”   
  
Han Solo nodded slowly, shifting on his feet, seemingly uncomfortable among the space and splendour of Luke’s quarters. Captain Tylers stood at attention behind the smuggler, eager eyes taking in all he could. Luke was seated his large chair near the comm unit, Mara in the shadows behind him.   
  
“You want me to create a diversion,” Han said. “I get it.”   
  
“I’m giving you a chance, Han,” Luke replied sternly, fixing his gaze on the man. The dullness in Han’s voice and expression gave Luke no pleasure, as he thought it would have. He had taken everything from Han, and now a large part of him wanted to give it all back. “I’m trusting you.”   
  
Something in Han’s crinkled face softened, the years dripping from him instantly. “I get it, kid,” he said with the first hint of emotion. “I won’t let you down.”   
  


* * *

  
  
The edges of the sun sank below the skyline, sending a soft orange-turned-blue glow throughout the Imperial Palace. From the rooftop, Luke regarded the city with a mixed sense of anticipation and foreboding. Tonight was his time, his opportunity.   
  
_Help me, Father_ , he said silently into the evening. _I can’t do this alone._   
  
Mara’s warm hand slipped over the shoulder of his tunic and across his chest. She wrapped her arms around his body and held him, her cheek pressed against his back. Suddenly, Luke felt fortified, strengthened by her presence.   
  
“You are ready,” she said softly and resolutely.   
  
Luke’s hand moved to cover hers clasped across his chest. He wasn’t as certain as she was – he still hadn’t overcome his block in the Force. But he had to move now, or he would not have the inner strength and determination. Palpatine was slowly chipping away at his senses and Luke wasn’t sure how much longer he could withstand the onslaught of darkness. And more importantly, safeguard the child that grew inside of Mara.   
  
Luke’s hand tightened around Mara’s, as he brought it to his lips to kiss her warmed flesh. “Be careful,” he whispered, unable to keep his voice from shaking. He found himself wanting to speak further, but couldn’t find the appropriate words. So they stood in the evening silence and held each other, waiting.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Han shifted slightly in his binders as Tylers led him through the lower levels of the prisons. He wasn’t sure that the plan of the kid’s would work, but he had nothing to lose. Han hadn’t imagined he could go on, not after seeing the Falcon, the great love of his life, dismantled piece by piece and crushed into space dust. He hadn’t slept or eaten for a week after it happened. Luke had come to him, finally, had held Han’s withering body in his arms and forced him to take nourishment. That had been the turning point.   
  
His girl was gone, leaving an unfillable hole in his heart. But seeing Luke, finally as a boy grown, with enough power to challenge the Emperor and yet still needing his help. _His_ help. There was something divinely poetic about it.   
  
Tylers nudged him in the back, a signal to start the show. With a speed he had not achieved in years, Han broke his sabotaged binders, freeing his hands from behind his back and leaped away from the Captain.   
  
“He’s escaping!” Tylers shouted theatrically to nearby stormtroopers and for a moment Han was reminded of his and Luke’s assault on the detention centre back on the Death Star. Long-dormant feeling of amusement roused within Han as he dodged Tyler’s blaster fire, which just happened to hit the activation switch on a nearby cell. The door slid open, releasing three prisoners, a burly-looking human, a Bothan and a Wookie, all quick to occupy the attacking stormtroopers.   
  
Han moved quickly, knocking out a stormtrooper of his own and taking his blaster. More troops ran down the narrow halls as an alarm sounded throughout the prisons. But Han and Tylers were already freeing more prisoners, all eager to take revenge of those that imprisoned them. There were over five hundred souls in the lower levels and less than sixty officers and stormtroopers to guard them. The efficiency of the Emperor coming back to haunt him, Han thought with glee.   
  
They would send for reinforcements, leaving the Emperor unguarded for Luke to make his move. Han just hoped it was the right one.   
  


* * *

  
  
The control centre below the Emperor’s personal throne room was in a panic. Selano pushed aside a quivering technician and punched in another alarm code. A loud bleeping from the holoscreen refused her password. She swore loudly, barking at another technician to try the emergency code. The young woman obeyed, hands shaking, but the command was again rejected. Someone had hacked into the security system and blocked anyone else from accessing it. Blast doors had closed all throughout the palace, cutting of the stormtrooper barracks from the main areas, meaning that only those on duty had been able to go and assist with the prison riot. It also cut them off from getting to the Emperor.   
  
Selano tried to hack into the central computer manually, damning the fact that she had always considered herself too good for a personal astromech unit. There were no droids at all on the level she could comm for assistance.   
  
“There’s too many of them…” a crackly voice came over the comm unit. “…need more troops…many casualties…don’t know how….” And then the voice was cut off with the sound of a large explosion. Someone had set off a thermal detonator.   
  
Selano swore again as her hacking was unsuccessful. This was no ordinary riot, she thought to herself. It had been meticulously planned, every eventuality covered…and she knew of no other person who was so skilled at hacking, or knew the prison mainframe so intimately.   
  
The sound of a lightsaber ignition pierced the air, and Selano looked up to see Mara Jade, hair wild and eyes burning, in the archway. The female technician beside Selano gasped and then ran swiftly out of the room. The other tech, whom Selano had earlier pushed aside, fired his blaster on Jade, who cleanly deflected it back into his chest. Selano rose nonchalantly and stepped over his body, drawing her own saber. “Impressive,” she said calmly, igniting the blood-red blade. “Not that it will save you,” she added wickedly, pouncing on Mara with speed and catching her opponent off-guard. Mara stumbled backwards, swinging her lightsaber wildly and Selano advanced once again, determined to finally finish her troublesome former mentor off.   
  


* * *

  
  
Luke crept through the darkened corridors, anticipation tingling down his spine. His father had walked the same path many times, although Luke was heading to destroy the Emperor, not serve him. If Han and Mara had done their jobs properly there should be no guards, no stormtroopers, no protection. Just him and Palpatine.   
  
Without daring to breathe, Luke activated the hidden entrance to the Emperor’s personal throne room. He slipped inside the cavernous space, keeping to the shadows so not to alert Palpatine to his presence. The Emperor sat facing away from him, hood covering his face, protecting him, it seemed, from the city lights that poured in through the viewscreen that took up an entire wall of the room. Luke fingered his father’s lightsaber nervously.   
  
“Welcome Schmendrick,” Palpatine’s crackly, deep voice cut through Luke’s heart. “Or should I say, young Skywalker,” he added thoughtfully. “I have been expecting you.”   


* * *

  
  
  
“A bit out of practice, aren’t we?” Selano taunted as she landed another hard strike against Mara’s lightsaber. With force, Mara pushed back against the pressure, causing the blades to crackle as they pressed harder against each other. Mara tried to centre herself, to reach for the Force as Luke had taught her, to pull on that reserve of strength and utilise it. Instinct told her to make a quick strike, so Mara feigned weakness, allowing Selano’s blade to push her own inches from her throat before ducking quickly out and around of her grasp. Selano fell forward and Mara swung her lightsaber in order to decapitate her victim. The Hand, however, recovered at the last second and flipped out of reach. Mara’s blade nicked the end of Selano’s hair, sending a few strands of blonde to the floor.   
  
“Not really,” Mara replied smugly.   
  
Selano eyed her dangerously, a self-conscious hand stroking the singed ends of her locks. She lunged towards her and forcefully swing her lightsaber towards Mara’s abdomen. Mara deflected it quickly, but was forced to step backwards as Selano continued her advance, wild eyes blazing a murderously tinted orange-red. Soon Mara was pushed up against the control console, red and blue lightsabers pressed against one another, barely moving from the exertion of both women. Mara summoned her strength and pushed back against Selano with her body and an enhanced Force push. With a shriek, Selano was thrown backwards, but spun in her air and managed to land on her feet a few metres away.   
  
Panting heavily, Mara readjusted her grip on her lightsaber which had loosened in her clammy hands. Equally exhausted, Selano took a deep breath. “You know, I’m actually glad you’re putting up such a good fight, Jade,” she simpered. “A kill’s just not satisfying if it’s too easy. You of all people should understand that.”   
  
“Really?” returned Mara. “I always thought the time it took to finish someone off was relative to how good my abilities were. But I’m sure your way makes you feel better about yourself,” she said patronisingly.   
  
Selano exhaled sharply. “Well the Emperor clearly has more faith in my methods.”   
  
“Not for long he doesn’t,” Mara replied quickly.   
  
“Oh, I see,” Selano smiled menacingly. “Your magician is out to prove his worth is he? While you stay here and guard the door?” She laughed hollowly. “He puts too much faith in you.”   
  
“As the Emperor does with you?” Mara shot back.   
  
“Do you think I am here for anyone’s sake but my own?” Selano took a step towards Mara.   
  
Realisation flooded her immediately as her long-suspected thoughts about Selano’s intentions were revealed to her. She was a parasite, clinging to whatever or whoever was in power to further her own ends. “Does loyalty mean nothing to you?” Mara spat out, sick to the stomach at the character of the woman before her.   
  
“Loyalty is for the deluded. Like love.” Selano took another step, brandishing her lightsaber, but Mara was frozen to the spot. “It’s strange,” she continued, “the lengths a human will go to in order to protect someone they think they love. The love a man has for his comrades, a husband for his wife…a mother for her child.” Selano’s gaze flittered down to Mara’s abdomen as a cold stab of fear struck her heart. _She knew?_   
  
And that moment’s distraction was all it took for Selano to swing her lightsaber with purpose, Mara only raising her own blade weakly at the last moment. It was easily struck from Mara’s hand, deactivating and cluttering to the floor out of reach. Selano gave a roar of triumph and drew back her two-handed grip to strike the last blow. Panicking, Mara did the only thing she could – raising her hand to try and wrest the lightsaber away using the Force. For a moment, it seemed to be working as the blade was pulled from Selano's grip and hung in mid air. Mara reached to grab it, but Selano’s own hand came up and called on the Force to retrieve her weapon.   
  
It was a strange sight, two women standing within striking distance of one another, hands outstretched for a wobbling blade suspended in the air above them. Mara realised this more quickly than Selano, and punched her opponent in the face with her free hand. Selano quickly grasped her cheek, shocked, before balling her fists and launching herself at Mara. The lightsaber clattered to the floor as Selano wrestled her against the control console, banging her back against the knobs and levers. Mara winced in pain and pushed her weight back against Selano's body, throwing them both to the floor.   
  
Hand to hand combat was not something Mara had engaged in for years – and her training with Luke had never included it. An oversight on both their parts, she supposed, as she landed a punch to Selano’s ribcage. The younger woman responded with and enraged shriek, flipping their bodies and raising slightly so that she straddled Mara’s waist. Before Mara could react, Selano’s hands closed around her throat, blocking off her air. Mara flailed her arms and attempted to kick Selano off of her, but the woman held firm.   
  
Every second seemed like a lifetime as Mara felt consciousness slipping away from her. Her vision blurred as Selano’s fingernails dug into the back of her neck. Mara barely heard the woman’s harsh taunts breaking through the haze.   
  
_Beaten again…you’re nothing…failure…worthless…_  
  
Just as Mara was about to pass out, he pulled on her last reserve for strength and used the Force to push Selano off her and across the rom. Mara rolled over to her side, unable to do anything else but gasp for air, and she saw Selano advance on her again. Hot tears sprung into her eyes as shame enveloped her. Selano was right. After everything Luke had done to convince Mara that she was still worth something, she had failed.   
  
“Pathetic,” Selano sneered as she towered above Mara, before kicking her soundly in the abdomen. Mara cried out in pain and fear at the agonising jolt. Her child...all she could think of was that she couldn’t allow that witch to hurt her child.   
  
Selano laughed again, and still on the floor, Mara watched her cross the room to retrieve her fallen lightsaber. Panicking, Mara tried to rise, but her lungs burned and the pain in her abdomen kept her on the floor. Her hand flew to above where her child rested and Mara reached through the Force for its presence. For the first time, she connected with the essence of life inside of her, a strange mix of herself and Luke.  A sense of peace enveloped Mara, filling her with a tranquillity she had never experienced. Her little child was unharmed.  
  
Though her eyes were closed, Mara felt Selano approach her again, heard the hard sound of her lightsaber ignite. But Mara was beyond fear now, or any thought of revenge. Selano’s betrayal of her and usurpation of her former position – none of that mattered to Mara anymore. She was free from the taint of rejection, and hate, a free-flowing love pouring between her own precence and that of the child's within her.   
  
Mara felt Selano’s burning hatred and thrill of victory through the Force, felt her raise her lightsaber and bring it down towards Mara’s body. Almost without realising it, Mara called her own lightsaber from across the room into her hand, ignited and swung in one swift movement.   
  
There was silence for several moments as time seemed to stop. Mara finally opened her eyes to see Selano still standing above her, although her face had paled and her eyes wide with stock. Mara’s gaze drifted to the floor beside her opponent, where Selano’s detached forearm still clutched the hilt of her lightsaber. Selano’s eyes followed Mara’s to the floor, and then to her own severed limb, the wound cauterised just above the elbow. She sank to her knees, disbelieving, as Mara rose to her feet, blue blade still full in her hand. She felt no need to make a disparaging comment, or gloat over her victory. Mara only needed to finish it, and gripped her lightsaber with both hands, poised to strike.   
  
But a spasm of pain shuddered through her body, and Mara stepped backwards, reeling from the internal assault. But it was not her own pain, it was too foreign for that, nor was it that of her child. “Luke,” she whispered to herself. He needed her help.   
  
_But Selano_ …Mara was torn.

Her blonde adversary looked up at Mara from the floor, a spark of hate in her tear-filled eyes, and she pulled her lightsaber from her severed limb with her left hand, ready to defend herself again. Mara knew she had to destroy her, for her own piece of mind, but also for the danger she represented to her. But every second was damaging to Luke, she could feel his spirit weakening through the Force. And Selano, although defeated, still had the ability to put up enough of a fight to delay Mara from getting to Luke in time. Resolutely, Mara deactivated her lightsaber, keeping it her hand ready to use again, and set towards to passage that lead to the Emperor’s throne room.   
  
“Typical,” she heard Selano call from behind her. “Always a slave, running to your Master’s bidding.” Mara did not slow her pace towards the corridor, ignoring the taunts from behind her. “He’ll never return the favour!” Selano cried, but Mara continued to run towards the door, towards Luke.   
  
She had made her choice.   



	17. Chapter 17

_Molly looked closely at him as she had not done for a long time, and saw that he had come at last to his power and his beginning. She could not say how she knew, for no bright glory burned about him, and no recognisable omens occurred in his honour just at that moment. He was Schmendrick the Magician as ever – and yet somehow it was for the first time._

* * *

  
  
  
The Emperor sat unmoving as Luke cautiously advanced on him, mind whirling. He had lost the element of surprise and so had to rethink his plans.  
  
“Did you think I was ignorant of your true identity?” The Emperor asked, a smile cracking his face. “That I couldn’t recognise you as a Skywalker the moment I saw you?”  
  
“It makes no difference,” Luke answered, keeping his voice controlled.  
  
“Yes, of course,” The Emperor said. “I must say your plan was rather well executed. You have your father’s gift for strategy.”  
  
Luke flinched at the mention of his father – did the Emperor know about him as well?  
  
“Oh, yes, I knew your father,” Palpatine continued, and Luke gave an inward sigh of relief. Clearly the Emperor hadn’t discovered Luke’s training with Vader. That gave him the advantage. “I’m sure the Jedi fed you some comfortable lies about him,” Palpatine added. “But I can tell you the truth, if you wish.” He cackled lowly.  
  
“No need.” Luke reached the Emperor’s throne, and thumbed the switch of his lightsaber. But before it could be activated Luke felt a sharp, burning pain surround him, the force of it throwing him clear across the room. He was surrounded by tentacles of blue-white light stretching from the Emperor’s fingertips. The onslaught stopped as quickly as it had begun, and Luke struggled to catch his breath. Palpatine advanced towards him menacingly, hands raised, poised to strike again.  
  
“Foolish boy,” he sneered. “I see I have to break you down in order to remake you.” The shot a fresh batch of Force lightening in Luke’s direction, but this time he was ready for it. Luke activated the lightsaber still clutched in his hand, the blood-red glow absorbing the strength of the crackling energy attack. He held the saber firmly and rose to his feet, straining under the weight but remembering his father’s advice, to anticipate and catch the lightening with instinct. He simply knew where the next attack was going to be directed, and despite the increase in force from Palpatine, kept it at bay.  
  
Finally the Emperor relented and silence of the room was only filled with the low thrum of Luke’s saber. For the first time ever, Palpatine did not look in complete control.

“Impressive, boy,” he said finally. “Your potential is finally showing promise.” But his voice was not filled with his usual confidence. “But still no more than a Jedi trick,” he added.  
  
“Not a _Jedi_ trick, your highness,” Luke smiled. “But one of Lord Vader’s…my father.” Luke punctuated his words with an outstretched hand, pushing the Emperor back with the Force. Palpatine stumbled backwards, panic falling across his face momentarily, although he did not fall. Luke advanced on him, brandishing his lightsaber, but was again hit with a bout of Force lightening. He tried to catch it again with his saber, but now the Emperor was angry, malice and hate etching across his face, the energy strands thickening, becoming more powerful, fuelled with the Dark Side.  
  
“Insolence!” The Emperor screamed, eyes burning a vibrant yellow-red. “Treachery!” The lightning struck through Luke’s defences, throwing him to the floor violently as the Emperor continued to screech at him. He was no longer the old, feeble man Luke had seen him as, no longer even human but simply an instrument of the power of the Dark Side. Intense pain skated throughout Luke’s body, electricity boiling his blood and shocking his bones. Luke tried to withdraw within himself, into a trance as Yoda had once taught him but he couldn’t clear his mind. Not that he’d stayed long enough on Dagobah to learn the lesson properly anyway.  
  
But as quickly as it had started, the lightening stopped again, leaving only the numbing pain that kept Luke helpless on the floor. The Emperor advanced on him, and smiled. “Young fool,” he said softly and darkly. “Not even in his prime could Lord Vader defeat me. Perhaps keeping you alive will teach you some respect.”  
  
Alive? No – Luke could not live with his own failure…could not become the broken, shell of a man his father had.  
  
“Alive,” the Emperor continued. “But…incapacitated. There is, after all, a life-sustaining black suit that is going unused. It would be such a shame to waste it. Or perhaps,” he added, “I will simply train _your_ son instead.”  
  
Luke coughed feebly, tasting the metallic essence of blood in his mouth. _Help me, father_ , he cried silently. He needed his father’s strength, his guidance...but his soul was silent, the familiar stir of Vader’s presence absent. Luke felt a hot tear burn down his cheek. He could not give up so easily, but he was so tired. So tired…  
  
The Emperor cackled again and turned towards the main entrance to the throneroom. “It seems we have company, young Skywalker.”  
  
Luke knew he should get up, get to the Emperor while his back was turned but he didn’t even have the energy to pull himself to his feet. He could only stare dumbly, feeling his heart turn cold as Mara ran through the doors, lightsaber drawn and expression hard.

“No…” Luke mumbled feebly as the Emperor raised a dismissive hand and Mara froze, held by an invisible force. Her lightsaber dropped to the floor and deactivated, the hollow sound echoing through the chamber. Her eyes caught Luke’s, a look of apology. He tried to reach out through the Force to her, to re-establish that gentle connection between them, but found the way blocked. She was there, just beyond his reach, but between them stood the impenetrable force of Palpatine.  
  
“Mara, my dear,” The Emperor’s gravely voice sounded far from welcoming. “I was hoping you would join us. I was just demonstrating to young Skywalker the folly of arrogance. However you will make a far more effective example.”  
  
“No,” Luke strangled out again, managing with great effort to hoist himself to his knees, ignoring the burning, searing pain in his torso. “Please.”  
  
“Do not insult me by begging,” Palpatine shot back. “It does not become you.” His hand did not move but his grip obviously tightened around Mara, as she let out a small, strangled gasp.  
  
“You wouldn’t hurt her,” Luke managed to find his voice. “Not if you want that child. And I know you do.” He slowly rose to his feet and held his ground despite the room spinning around him.  
  
“You presume too much,” Palpatine tightened his grip again around Mara and she began to look faint. “There are other vessels. Other opportunities.”  
  
“But you won’t take that chance.” Luke knew he was pressing his luck, but he knew he couldn’t overpower the Emperor with force – he had to out-think him.  
  
“Will you?” The Emperor asked, raising his other hand where small shard of electricity began to form and dance around his fingers. Luke felt fear descend on him again, knowing that the child in Mara’s womb would not survive even one blast of Force lightening. And despite his bravado, he wasn’t entirely sure the Emperor wouldn’t just do it to prove the point to him. He looked at Mara again, helpless once more in the hands of the Emperor. Fear turned to anger and without thinking, Luke launched himself at his foe.  
  
But again the Emperor anticipated him, and Force lightening hit him again bluntly in the chest, knocking him back to the ground. He heard Mara cry out, which was halted immediately with Palpatine re-adjusting his grip on her as he continued to pound Luke with electricity. The Emperor’s concentration was split between the two of them, but his power and control had not lessened. Luke realised he had underestimated the Emperor’s raw connection to the Force.  
  
And then all Luke could feel was the shard of agony that ran through his body, the crackling in his ears. He knew it was the end. _I’m sorry, father_ , he whispered again into the Force and closed his eyes.  
  
But something forced them open again, a whisper of familiar strength running through him. _You don’t fail me_ a voice sighed through him. _You fail your new family. You fail yourself._  
  
And Luke was reminded of what would happen to Mara if he gave up – how she would be forced to give birth, to hand the child over to the Emperor and either killed or made to watch her child grow in Palpatine’s own image. To be under his power, his exploitation once again. And he couldn’t let that happen, not to Mara.

Not to his Mara, who he…  
  
And then the dam broke. All of the hate, the suffering he’d experienced, the anger at the Emperor and himself, washed over him, fuelled him. He held up his hands, and fortified by this new power, saw then absorb the lightening the Emperor propelled on him. Luke saw the glimmer of surprise in his opponent’s eyes, heard the surprised gasp of Mara from across the room, but his focus was entirely on his own actions. It burned his insides – but it felt so pleasurable, so _right_. He accepted the darkness within himself for the first time, knowing that it was the only way to survive. It swirled within his soul, fortifying him, filling him with the power of the Force. It was exhilarating, as if the world had just opened up to him, and was his for the taking.  
  
So he took it. He called on the Force to follow him, to work through him, to strengthen his connection by weakening the Emperor’s. He was the powerful one; and so he took from the Emperor all of his strength, all of his power in the Force and held it inside of himself. Then, he turned it back on his enemy, relishing the pleasure-pain as the lightening soared from his fingertips, throwing Palpatine to the ground as the man gave a surprised grunt. He walked forward, oblivious to everything but his own power, his rage that was pouring into the fragile body of the man he hated. The Force had abandoned Palpatine, so nothing was left but the old man, screaming at the assault of pain Luke was serving to him.  
  
Luke stopped finally, as the Emperor defeated lay at his feet. His hood was askew, revealing a bald, wrinkled head and dull, yellow eyes without their usual intensity. He looked like a small, crumpled old man, now that the Force had abandoned him. “What do you have to say, _Emperor_?” he asked, sneering. The balance has shifted so quickly, but now Luke was confident, assured. A new man.  
  
But Palpatine simply looked up at him, and his cracked lips parted, letting out a dry, insane laugh. Luke towered over him, and called his lightsaber to his hand, igniting the blood-red blade. It was not the moment he had envisioned; Palpatine begging for mercy, repentant for all he had done to the Skywalker family. Instead it seemed as if he had lost his grip on reality as he continued to laugh. A pathetic sight, really. Or perhaps he knew something Luke didn’t.  
  
“You’re ours, Skywalker,” he said in a weak, tragic voice. “Now you’ll always be ours.” He coughed, and then laughed again inanely.  
  
Pure hatred still flowed through Luke’s veins, the darkness urging him to take his moment of glory. So with one swift stroke, Luke brought his father’s blade down and silenced the Emperor forever.

* * *

It could have been minutes, or hours later when Luke felt Mara’s cooling fingers against his face and neck. He was on the floor, next to Palpatine’s charred body and robes. He couldn’t remember sitting down, or collapsing, but how he has gotten there was irrelevant. He was numb to what he had done and what he planned to do now that it was over. He was free - and all he could feel was the tears that spilled unimpeded from his eyes, and Mara’s safe arms pulling him close.  She had held him once that way before, when his father had died, the first connection they had shared.  But now she was comforting him in his victory, rather than in his sorrow.    
  
“It’s over,” she whispered and held him tightly against her, and he gave himself to her strength. “It’s over.”


	18. Epilogue

_She said,“You are a true and mortal wizard now, as you always wished. Does it make you happy?”_   
  
_“Yes," he replied with a quiet laugh.  "I am not poor Haggard, to lose my heart's desire in the having of it.  But there are wizards and wizards; there is black magic and white magic, and the infinite shades of grey inbetween - and I see now that it is all the same.  Whether I decide to be what men would call a wise and good magician - aiding heroes, thwarting witches and wicked lords - or whether I choose the retorts full of elixirs and essences, the powders, herbs and banes, the padlocked books of gramarye bound in skins better left unnamed, the muddy mist darkening in the chamber and the sweet voice lisping therein - why, life is short, and how many can I help or harm?  I may have my power at last, but the world is still too heavy for me to move."  He laughed again in his dream, a little sadly._

* * *

  
  
  
“My Lord?”  
  
Luke drew his dark cloak around him closely, eyes fixed on the blue-grey planet that loomed in the viewscreen of what once had been the Emperor’s throne room on the Death Star.

“Tylers,” Luke greeted his lieutenant, who looked enormously proud of the new red and blue blocks that adorned the breast of his tunic.  
  
“We have reached the co-ordinates...what did you call this planet again?” Tylers looked out of the viewscreen, clearly unimpressed by its appearance.  
  
Luke couldn’t blame him. He’d had much the same reaction the first time he’d seen it. He knew much better now of course. That planet could destroy him.  
  
Tylers took Luke’s silence as a sign of anger. “Forgive me, sir,” he said nervously. “It is not my place-”  
  
“Dagobah,” Luke interrupted him softly, eyes still transfixed on the foggy planet that had once been his training ground.  
  
“Well?” Tyler’s clearly wasn’t sure how to answer. “The Death Star is ready to fire on your order, my Lord,” he added instead continuing the line of conversation.  
  
Luke nodded. “Thank you Tylers.”  
  
Tylers bowed and retreated to the shadows, leaving Luke to his thoughts. The young man been invaluable to Luke’s assault against the Emperor, and his loyalty had been rewarded. Luke had easily taken control of the leaderless Empire after he had dispatched of Palpatine, and though he now had numerous sycophants clamouring for his favour, Luke knew who he could trust and it was a very short list.  
  
There had been little trouble claiming the throne, after all, he was the Emperor’s acknowledged apprentice. Selano had disappeared, much to Mara’s chagrin, and some of the old order no doubt found it difficult to take orders from a former Hand and an ex-smuggler, but they respected Mara and Han in public as much as they did Luke. All those who had not had met with a less than desirable fate.  
  
There was only one challenge that lay before Luke now, one last tie to the past to brutally sever. He couldn’t feel Yoda’s presence in the Force, but he was still down there, and Luke would finish what his father couldn’t. He felt Obi-Wan’s presence, that small, niggling voice in the back of his mind, telling him that it was the Emperor’s will, not his own or Vader’s. Luke shrugged away the thought easily, knowing the old ghost would not dare intervene. He believed too much in free will. Well, it was Luke’s free will to finish it.  
  
Soft hands ran down his arm as Mara appeared silently at his side. “So this is Dagobah,” she said softly. “It seems rather innocuous.”  
  
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Luke replied, turning to her. Mara’s face was glowing and healthy, unrestrained by burdens, doubts or mistrust. “As I’m sure you’ve discovered,” he continued, knowing that she had not thought much of him the first time they’d met, just like he had long stopped seeing her as a means to an end.

Mara smiled in return, and nudged closer.  He placed a hand gently on her belly, now slightly fuller to accommodate the life growing inside of her.  They had not announced the pregnancy, for Luke still knew that there was still much danger to the child.  Mara rested her hand over his, happiness radiating from her. 

"I felt the gender," she told him quietly.  "Do you want to know?"

"No," Luke told her softly, and Mara gave him an amused smile.  "I want to be surprised," he explained.  "There are so few good surprises in life." 

The last good surprise had been when he was moments from death, and had realised that he loved Mara, that he would do anything to protect her, even open himself up to the dark side.  But his anger had ebbed once the Emperor had died, and Luke hadn't needed to call on it again.  He was no Sith, and yet he was not a Jedi either.  

The Sith were all dead and gone, and there was only one Jedi remaining in the galaxy.  Luke turned to contemplate the planet again, knowing that it was within his power to truly purge the galaxy of the Jedi, to exterminate those that had lied to him.  And yet, now that the moment came, Luke was reluctant to give the order.

A figure appeared on his left, and Luke turned to see Han beside him, a completely new man.  He wore an insignia-free Imperial suit, but stood straight, dark hair neatly combed and clean-shaven.  It was as if he had not spent the last ten years wasting away through alcohol and regret. 

"So, what are you going to do, kid?" Han asked with something of his old style. 

"Don't call me that," Luke said, but he smiled and allowed it.  Han was the only person alive - other than Yoda - who had known Luke as an impetuous farmboy, and a part of him wanted to keep hold of that.  He was not the Emperor to Han, he was a kid who needed help and guidance.  And to Mara he was just a man - someone who needed her love and affection.  Both of them reminded him that he was Luke Skywalker still, not Lord Schmendrick, Emperor.

And Luke Skywalker decided not to exert power unless it was necessary. 

"Take us back to Coruscant," he said to Han, who smiled in what seemed like relief and hurried away to give the order. 

Mara slipped her hand into his and squeezed it gently.  "Do you forgive him?" she asked, looking back out towards the planet. 

"No," Luke said softly.  "I just don't want to kill him.  Let the Force take him, when it's time."  His old master would have to live with his regret and mistakes, just as Luke did.  He turned away from Dagobah to face Mara fully, taking her face in his hands.  "Let the past take care of itself," he said and kissed her gently.  "We have a new Empire to build."

Luke took her into his embrace then, communicating the love her felt for her through the Force and feeling it reciprocated, a gentle hum of happiness within him.  They held each other as the Death Star jumped into hyperspace, a million worlds and stars spinning around them to take his family back home.    

 


End file.
